Elder Scrolls: Voyage to Atmora
by WWIIbeast1945
Summary: Almost 60 years after Dragonborn defeated Alduin, we follow Bjorn Frosthammer, who uncovers something incredible about his heritage and joins an expedition to the lost continent of Atmora, the ancient land of the Nords. Upon landing, things go wrong, and Bjorn and his team push forward into the wastes to uncover secrets of the Nord's, and Bjorn's, icy past
1. Aan Zoor Sizaan: A Legend Lost

Chapter One:

_Aan Zoor Sizaan_

"A Legend Lost"

The cool breeze off the Sea of Ghosts blew through Bjorn's hair as he leaned out his window, admiring the sights of Solitude below him. The streets were filled with busy civilians and ranks of Imperial soldiers. Following the Dragonborn's peace parley on High Hrothgar, the Stormcloaks revived their fight as soon as the dragon menace dissipated, and threw their massed forces boldly at the Empire. To much of Skyrim's dismay, and some relief, Ulfric Stormcloak was struck down in 4E 212, after almost 15 years of bloody civil war, and thus ended the conflict. The last remaining Stormcloaks were driven from the land, and Skyrim fell back in line. The Frosthammer's had always been supporters of the Empire, and Bjorn took comfort in the Imperial's presence.

The third story window had an incredible view. Even if he was only 13, Bjorn was very educated about his family, the Frosthammer's, history. In 4E 212, his grandfather, Rylus Frosthammer, bought Proudspire Manor using profit from his partial ownership of the East Empire trading company. Now known as Frosthammer Manor, the family has lived there since. Bjorn turned away from the window, glancing at his calendar. "Oh, by the Nine..." he swore, "Today is Middas... I'm going to be late!"

Bjorn stumbled down the stone steps to the basement of Frosthammer manor where his father was striking a straw filled dummy with his prized steel sword. His father, Jyreth, turned to him with a smile. "How are you today, son?" he asked in his soothing voice, "ready for your lesson?" Bjorn nodded his head, taking his own iron practice sword from the rack. After a few hours of practice, the dummy being sliced and eviscerated by multiple blows, Bjorn's father chuckled warmly. "You've become quite the swordsman, lad," he praised, rubbing his head, "you might be better than me one day." He flashed his charismatic smile and clambered back upstairs. "Oh, and son?"

"Yes, Papa?" Bjorn responded, rehanging his sword.

"What year is it?"

"Um.. 251. Fourth era, right?"

"Correct. And what is today?"

Bjorn beamed with pride, "Dragonborn Day, Papa. You know that." His father smiled back, and continued back upstairs, reminding him that he should eat soon, to restore his strength. Bjorn let his mind drift for a moment. 4E 251, 49 years after the Dragonborn rescued Tamriel from Alduin's rage, and the nightstalker menace. No one heard of the Dragonborn after Lord Harkan was struck down. Some say he went to learn with the Greybeards, while others say he became a recluse, hiding himself away in the mountains. Regardless of where he went, inns around Skyrim still sing songs of his glory.

Bjorn decided to put off lunch awhile longer and spend a bit of time reading. He especially loved the tales of Ysgrammor and the 500 companions, and spent many hours pouring over texts and tomes of his deeds. The basement of Frosthammer manor was not only home to the training den, but also his father's personal study. Bjorn would often come in here to find his father reading letters and reports, managing his inherited share of the trading company. Bjorn gravitated towards the bookshelf, scanning the spines to find the story of Yngol and Ysgrammor's desperate attempt to save him. But one book caught his attention. A dull yellow one, with no name on the spine. His eyebrows raised in curiosity, and he pulled on it. A metallic click made him jump, and the bookshelf creaked open, revealing a spiral staircase. Being young and adventurous, he grabbed a candle and proceeded down the steps.

The dim light from the flame illuminated very little of the staircase, forcing Bjorn to strain to see ahead of him. Eventually, the light revealed a massive iron door, very reminiscent of the ancient ruins scattered across Skyrim. It screeched open, Bjorn pushing hard to move the heavy doors to reveal a modest sized room. He coughed a bit when the stagnant air hit him, but immediately noticed the wonders around him. Ancient Nord artifacts littered shelves, sharing space with books and scrolls that must've dated back to the first era. His finger traced across the shelves, dragging along a fine line of dust. Using his candle, Bjorn lit another candle in the room, resting on a large wooden desk. Bjorn's eyes widened as he picked up a stack of letters, dating back to before Saarthal, before the first settlement, right up to at least 4E 150. Bjorn sat down and picked up one labeled "The Arrival." Not long after reading did Bjorn realize this was a translated Snow Elf text, detailing the arrival of the ancient Nords of Atmora to Skyrim, and the first meeting of man and elf, as Ysgrammor shook the hand of what would soon become their sworn enemies. Greatly interested, he set the note aside and grabbed another one. It was a letter, signed by Yngol... the dead son of Ysgrammor. Then Bjorn noticed the date: 4E 167. Bjorn couldn't understand, so he began to read.

_Dearest Rylus, I write to you to give you answers you should know before I pass. As I have told you, yes, it is true that I am Yngol, the lost son of Ysgrammor. And yes, I know that the legends say I was killed by the Ghosts of the Sea before our invasion force landed in the first era. I was given a proper Nord burial outside of Windhelm, and there I lay for many years. I told you that I survived, and that I was the man of legends before you, but you need to know the whole truth. The Ghosts of the Sea did not truly kill me, rather their cold touch rendered me comatose. I awoke, startled, still in full battle dress within my tomb. I stumbled out into the blinding light, nearly fainting at the impressive expansion of my kind across the liberated land. After understanding just when I awoke, I decided to become a person again... live my life like I couldn't when I was younger. I drank mead in great halls, listening to songs that sung of my father's greatness. I met someone, and settled down. I had a child. That child was you, Rylus. When you were old enough, I told you who I really was, and now I write to plead that you remember your heritage. The family you will have eventually will be of royal blood; the blood of Ysgrammor. I go now, back to the tomb my father built for me, to wait out the last days of my life. Carry my legacy, and the legacy of the true Nords. You are kings. Never forget that._

Bjorn dropped the letter, mouth agape. His heart pounded in his chest, a cold sweat beading on his forehead. He was of Ysgrammor's blood. Of Yngol's blood... and his father never told him? Suddenly, he heard his mother, Hrodi, call his name. He hadn't known how long he had spent in this study, but no doubt his mother was calling him for lunch. When he turned to go back up the steps, he ran into his father, who stared down at him with guilty eyes, "We need to talk, Bjorn."

***11 YEARS LATER***

The carriage rattled along the cobblestone road. Bjorn had left his hometown of Solitude just after he turned 24. His father still ran the Solitude branch of the East Empire Trading Company, which made the Frosthammer family very rich. Frosthammer manor became nearly as prestigious as the Blue Palace, and Bjorn's mother and father very much enjoyed the elegant lifestyle. Bjorn, however, used his share of the wealth to gain an incredible education, ordering books from all around Tamriel to inquire about the Old Nords and Atmora. When he wasn't pouring over his tomes, he was hard at work honing his sword skills. After years of spending his days studying his great grandfather's legacy, he fancied himself one of the première historians on Old Nords. Currently, the carriage clattered towards Winterhold, where a Thalmor and the Archmage were gathering an expeditionary team to explore Atmora, the ancient Nord homeland. Despite knowing more about Atmora and the the Old Nords than nearly anyone in Skyrim, he answered the call as a brutish but incredible swordsman, offering protection for the researchers. A few days later, he received a letter calling him to the College, which he eagerly accepted. Ever since he learned of his heritage eleven years ago, Bjorn told himself he would reach his family's sacred land. The College had given him this chance.

Right out of Solitude, the first stop was Morthal for rest and supplies. Bjorn gazed in awe as they passed the Dragonbridge, but afterwards the road to Morthal was dull. Forest turned to marshland, and Bjorn dozed off, uninterested in the bland scenery. When he awoke to the halted carriage in the small city, some claimed they saw a dragon, but Bjorn just sighed. They weren't a menace now. With Alduin's defeat, they weakened and scattered. Moorside Inn was quiet and relaxed. Bjorn ignored the drunk cheers from the fire pit and read up on Jylkurfyk. Early the next morning, he awoke to a drunk bard singing him awake. After knocking the bard back into the main hall and shattering his lute, Bjorn silently climbed into the back of the carriage.

The horses hooves served as an interesting metronome to think to. A redguard, Gerard, attempted to make conversation. Bjorn decided he could spare a few words, and discussed the land of Hammerfell. Bjorn shuddered at the mention of great heat and massive expanse of sands. He prefered the grasslands and snow of his homeland. Gerard got off at Dawnstar, and Bjorn wished him success wherever his path would take him.

The night in Dawnstar was unsettling, with the old shrine to Vaermina so close to the city. The only relief Bjorn got was a fight between two rival miners, which ended with three broken mead bottles, a broken roasting spit, and a miner out for two months with severe burns. The mead knocked Bjorn out, and he awoke in Dawnstar just before his carriage left. Clambering on, he discovered he almost missed Gerard's company. After years of studying and training, Bjorn lacked good friends. Conversation was very welcome. Bjorn smiled lightly, enjoying the great mountains and glaciers that made his homeland unique. Bjorn took out the mission pamphlet. Only one more day on this carriage, and he would have his opportunity.

The carriage neared Winterhold, the College looming in the distance. The snow had started falling, and soon the roads whitened. Bjorn pulled his fur coat around his shoulders keeping the snow off of him. His Nord blood kept the cold from getting to him, but he was no fan of getting wet, especially in tempered leather armor. When the carriage entered the city, the wooden buildings were covered in a blanket of white. The others on the carriage immediately headed off to the inn to warm up and drink away the long journey. "Milk-drinkers," Bjorn scoffed, seeing an Imperial couple hurry towards the welcoming inn doors, "if you can't handle the cold, why come to Skyrim?"

Bjorn's boots crunched in the snow as he approached the College bridge. A mage, clad in their well-known robes, glared at him. "What is your business here, Nord?" Bjorn showed her his letter, and the mage walked him up to the College doors. "Your other team members will meet you inside. The Thalmor and the Archmage will want to meet with you."

Bjorn gazed up at the gates as they opened, the great eye insignia giving him chills. He strode towards the massive doors of the College, admiring the statue and the strong presence of magicka. He placed his hands on the door rings, and sighed. Beyond these doors was everything he wanted. Beyond these doors was his key to Atmora.


	2. Aan Veysun Nau Faal Okaaz: A Ship at Sea

Chapter 2:

_Aan Veysun Nau Faal Okaaz_

"A Ship at Sea"

Bjorn pushed open the heavy wooden doors. The Hall of Elements shimmered with magicka. Bjorn took a moment to take in his surroundings. The Hall was a large rotunda with great stone buttresses supporting the ceiling, with a large central basin emanating a strong magic presence. Surrounding the basin stood six people. The two most powerful figures, which were obvious by their stature, were Archmage Mirabelle Ervine and the Thalmor ambassador, a woman surprisingly. Bjorn's Nord mindset made his fists clench at the sight of the oppressive High Elf. Just because Bjorn followed the Empire did not mean he had to agree with the Thalmor.

Bjorn analyzed the others. The first to catch his eye was a large orc with a menacing warhammer slung over his back. His stark black hair was tied in a battle-ready ponytail, and his Orcish armor gave him an intimidating persona. He eyed Bjorn threateningly before turning back to Ervine. The next in line was a Dark Elf. Bjorn was more lenient to the Dunmer, but he was still an elf, which made Bjorn wary. The dark-skinned elf had cropped auburn hair, styled just right so the hair wouldn't fall into his face. He wore a standard hunting bow and a quiver full of arrows, so Bjorn rationalized that he would be the team's hunter. Following the Dark Elf was a feeble looking Redguard dressed in common mage robes. He looked skittish, therefore Bjorn assumed he was only accepted for some useful skill in magic. Lastly, Bjorn's eyes fell upon a woman. A stunning brunette Imperial waiting patiently for Ervine's lecture. Bjorn immediately felt some kind of attraction, however he retained his gruff persona. Besides, why would some like himself with horrible social skills be able to love?

The Thalmor tapped her foot impatiently and Archmage Ervine called out, "Ah! You must be Bjorn. The sellsword? You're just in time, if not a little late." Bjorn took his place in the group next to the Dark Elf. He moved a little to make room, but offered no other greeting. The Archmage cleared her throat. "Gentleman, and lady, you five have all been accepted to partake in one of the greatest scientific expeditions of this era," she drew her gaze over the group, "By request of the College, and with Imperial-Thalmor funding, we have gotten the opportunity to have a team, you all, travel to the distant continent of Atmora, the ancient Nord homeland."

Bjorn rolled his eyes. He knew all of this already, but he assumed it was necessary for the others. Mirabelle gestured towards the Thalmor woman, "Ms. Orendali Highbourne of the Embassy will explain the rest. Warriors, mages, good luck on your journey, and you have my blessings."

Mirabelle left the Hall leaving the group faced by a stuck-up Thalmor. She eyed them all, disgusted. Regardless, she began to speak in her professional voice. "As Archmage Ervine introduced, I am Orendali Highbourne, ambassador from the Thalmor Embassy. I have funded this little expedition of ours, therefore I will be joining you," a slight smile appeared on her face, "the objective of this expedition is to sail across the Sea of Ghosts to Atmora to find the Great Library at Jylkurfyk. Afterwards, we will gather useful information and head inland to find the ancient capital of Atmora. From there, we will take any artifacts of interest back with us to the College to be studied. Does everyone understand?"

The group stayed silent for a moment. The Dark Elf stepped forward. "Well what in the name of Azura are we standin' around for?" Bjorn smiled lightly. For an elf, this guy was alright.

Clambering down the cliff face to the boat was no easy task, but the group eventually stumbled down to the boat. The "Ice Wraith" was a moderately sized frigate, able to hold the expedition team, their gear, and a formidable crew to conquer the Sea of Ghosts. The snow relented long enough for the boat to leave Winterhold, and the Ice Wraith set out on its journey.

The ice split in front of the boat, making sickening cracks that made the Redguard wince. Bjorn stayed at the front, gazing out into the unforseen. Beyond these terrible waters was his ancient home, the place he was destined to go. The scenery, however, was uninteresting, and in an effort to entertain himself, Bjorn his perch to meet the crew. He anticipated that he'd be traveling with them for a while, so he might as well get to know them. The first teammate he approached was the Dark Elf, who sat on a bench by the mast readying his bow and sharpening his arrows. Bjorn leaned against the mast and attempted to engage in conversation, "So... what's a Dark Elf like you doing on a voyage to Atmora?"

The elf turned to face him, his face cold as the sea breeze, emotionless. He spoke in his stereotypical Dunmer tone, "I'm here because you people need me. You all need to eat, and I got the skills needed to make sure you do."

"I see... well, I appreciate your contribution to the team."

"You mocking me, Nord?" he replied sternly.

"Absolutely not. And I'm not 'Nord'. The names Bjorn. Bjorn Frosthammer."

The elf's eyes widened slightly, "Oh. I've heard about you and your family, Bjorn. Very famous people, indeed. No way you're just a hired sword. But I don't care anyway. My name is Drenyir Yamarith, expert hunter."

"The pleasure is mine, Drenyir. You sure you won't mind the cold?"

Drenyir merely chuckled, the first sign of positive emotion. He rested his bow aside to adjust his posture. "Of course it won't bother me," he scoffed, "I was born in Solstheim. You know, little island north of Morrowind. Cold as ice there. I'm used to it."

This time it was Bjorn's turn to act surprised, "Solstheim, huh? Isn't that-"

"The place of the werewolf invasion a couple hundred years ago? Yeah, it is. Nerevar saved us from that, too. Unfortunately, werewolves killed my family regardless when I was 17. That's how I learned to hunt. Had to start feeding myself, you know?"

"I have heard of it. Where are you from?"

"A little colony named Ravenrock. Not the nicest place."

"I wouldn't know. I grew up in Solitude. I had waiters serving me dinner."

Both Drenyir and Bjorn laughed. After Drenyir's laugh settled, he spoke in a lighter tone, "You know, you're alright Nord. Or... Bjorn, was it? I've got to finish my arrows, so I'll see you around." Bjorn shook his hand and left with a smile, content at the success of his conversation. Next to talk with was the Redguard, who was puking his guts out over the side of the ship. Bjorn approached him, careful not to make him leap over the rail. "You alright there, Redguard?"

The Redguard finished heaving and stood erect. "Uh... absolutely. Nothing wrong here," he wheezed, "I'm... uh... Vallund Remis. Conjuror at the College."

Bjorn reached forward and shook his hand, "Nice to meet you Vallund. I'm Bjorn. Bjorn Frosthammer." Vallund had the same reaction Drenyir did, continuing to shake his hand as if he was meeting a celebrity. After letting go of Bjorn's hand, Vallund just shrugged, "Not much to say... I was born in Markarth.. never saw the sands of my homeland. But as soon as my parents discovered my skill with magic, they shipped me off to the College. I haven't talked to them since."

"I'm sorry. Do you think about them?"

"Yeah, sometimes. But I enjoy my studies. I still can't get over the cold. Is it getting colder?"

Bjorn chuckled, "Yes, it is. You better grab your furs. Atmora will be frigid." Vallund's face drained of color. "Colder..?" he sputtered, before turning to vomit again. Bjorn wished him luck with his seasickness, and walked inside the ship.

The interior of the ship was significantly warmer. Bjorn removed his fur coat and proceeded to the mess hall. Bjorn was surprised. All the stereotypes he'd heard about traveling by ship were false. At least on the Wraith. Thick Slaughterfish steaks and vegetable stew were being served today, with almost every drink imaginable at the bar. Bjorn strolled into the mess, impressed at the size of the room. There were various crew members scattered around, but the one who caught his eye was the Orc from earlier. He sat silently in a secluded corner, eyeing the room cautiously. Bjorn approached him, trying to retain some sort of tough demeanor. "So... why are you here Orc?"

The Orc turned to him, "Look Nord, I don't care who you are, or why you're here. All you need to know is that my name is Gharza gro-Lorgan, and my hammer, Bloodcleave, can crush a Giant's head like a Jazibay grape. So in the future? Stay out of my way."

Bjorn stepped away from the table. "Fine. And in the future? I can handle myself." Gharza gro-Lorgan's cold gaze followed him as he crossed the hall. Lastly, Bjorn approached the Imperial woman, who was pouring over books about Atmora and the legends of Ysgrammor. Bjorn sat across from her and tried to sound polite, "You know, I know all of those legends by heart." The Imperial looked up from her books and smiled warmly. "Do you, now?"

"Absolutely. I read them all as a child." Bjorn gloated.

The Imperial laughed quietly, "well, I guess it's good to have someone else with an education on this ship. I'm Mariah Valentino, adept mage at the College. I can burn your skin away, and then make it all better."

"So... a battlemage and a healer? Thats an impressive combination. I'm Bjorn, by the way. Bjorn Frosthammer."

To much of Bjorn's confusion, Mariah did not seem to be surprised at this information. "Oh, I know who you are," she chortled, "and everyone else should. You're family is second only to the Black-Briar's here in Skyrim. I also knew you weren't just a sellsword. Your knowledge of these texts proves my assumptions." Bjorn's face flushed a little red, embarrassed that this woman basically figured him out at a glance back in the Hall of Elements.

"So what's your story, Mariah?"

"Well, I was born and raised in Ivarstead, until I was 14. That's when my parent's realized my potential in magic and sent me to the College. I haven't spoken to them in... Gods, 9 years? They never answered my letters... I'm almost worried."

"I'm sure they're fine, Mariah. They must've known you'd be busy practicing with flames. And then fixing all the damage." A smile flashed on Bjorn's face, which made Mariah smile lightly as well. "It's been a wonderful talk, Bjorn," she said, starting to reorganize her texts, "but I need to read these before we reach Jylkurfyk. Even if you already know them."

Bjorn left Mariah to her books and exited the mess hall. He spent the rest of the afternoon back at his perch, watching the ice crack and the mist part at the ship's approach. His coat, his Nord blood, and his bottle of mead kept him cool, even as night set in. As the crew scurried around the deck lighting torches and making adjustments to the sails, Bjorn kept his eyes fixed on the horizon, imagining seeing snow-capped mountains and wave-battered shores of Atmora. He smiled to himself. He was almost there. When fatigue crept up on him, he turned to walk to his cabin. At the door to the cabins, he was stopped by the Thalmor, Orendali Highbourne. She eyed him angrily from under her hood.

"Off to bed then, Bjorn?" she asked, her tone noting the lack of attention.

"Yes, Orendali, I'm-"

Orendali's eyes snapped open and blazed with intense hatred, "Look, you sniveling Nord. I am a High Elf of the Thalmor Embassy! You will treat me with respect and address me as Ms. Highbourne or 'Your Most Esteemed'. Do you understand me, _Nord?_"

Bjorn's eyes narrowed in anger, "Yes, _you're most esteemed Lady Highbourne, _I'm going to bed."

"I'm glad we got that sorted. I honestly don't care what you do tomorrow, but I'm sure you need your rest. And next time you see her, tell Ms. Valentino she received a letter just before we shipped out. Have a nice rest, Bjorn."

Bjorn walked into his room and slammed the door. What an ungrateful, evil-blooded elf! He thought to himself. His mind raced through multiple scenarios of how the next few days on the ship would work out, but when his head hit the pillow, Bjorn fell fast asleep. The rocking of the boat and the sound of cracking ice did nothing to hinder his sleep, but dreams of Orendali Highbourne's blazing eyes keep him tossing and turning throughout the night.


	3. Faal Kruziik Od: The Ancient Snow

Chapter 3

_Faal Kruziik Od_

"The Ancient Snow"

_The snow fell hard now. The ships stayed in formation. Bjorn gazed out across the sea, watching as the fog moved in. To his left, he saw Ylgar's ship, steadfast, keeping with the fleet. To his right, Bjorn saw Ysgrammor's ship, commanding the landing force. The snow began falling faster as the armada hit the fog. Suddenly, all was quiet. Bjorn could not hear the lapping of the waves, or the metal clang of readying swords. The fog was thick. Bjorn reached out into the mist, and was stunned that he couldn't see his fingers from this distance. He stumbled off his perch, trying to reach his crew. Noise returned, but the fog did not lift. Rather, Bjorn became discomforted by the return of the sound of cracking ice. Bjorn slipped and fell, and when he stood up, he screamed. Before him was a ghastly spirit, clad in armor the likes of which he'd never seen. He looked around him, seeing the fog lift slightly. Similar ghosts swarmed the ship, overwhelming the helpless crew. Bjorn readied himself, reaching for his sword. But his hand only grabbed air, and the fingers of the ghost wrapped around his face. The icy grip was horrifying. The world went black and the last thing he heard was splintering wood as the ship ran aground..._

Bjorn snapped awake, a cold sweat dripping off his brow. He sat up, rubbing his temples. It was the same nightmare he'd had for years. He would always wake up still feeling the cold grip of the spirit, but tonight was different. He had never heard the boat run aground before, and it frightened him. Bjorn knew what the dream was though. It was the legend of Yngol, and the first crossing of the Sea of Ghosts. But experiencing it first hand was, and always had been, horrifying.

He stood up, stretched, and got dressed, donning a tunic before his armor. It was day 18 of the journey. Today was the day they would hit land at Atmora. The trip remained uninteresting, with the only scenery being the cracking ice and the only company his team members. In his spare time, he made short work of the ship's training dummies. A few times he'd met Drenyir at the shooting range, splitting arrow after arrow. There was very little conversation, but at least Drenyir gave him a friendly smile every time he passed.

The wooden steps creaked as he reached the training room. The sun hadn't risen yet, but it would soon. As expected, the Dark Elf was there, readying his quiver. He turned to Bjorn. "You're up early, Frosthammer," he said, drawing an arrow back, "what brings you down 'ere at this hour?" Bjorn sighed hesitantly, "Can't sleep. Figured I'd kill some time down here.

"The only thing you should be killing are these hay-filled bastards," Drenyir chuckled. Bjorn nodded affirmatively, and drew his sword. He took a minute to admire it. Pure tempered steel, and he forged it himself at Castle Dour. The leather handle hand molded to fit his hand over the years, giving him superior speed and grip. It wasn't just a sword, it was his sword. Bjorn didn't quite have a plan, but practiced parrying and thrusts all the same. Basic maneuvers, but his father had always said the simplicity could be life saving. After the dummies had been sliced apart, spilling their hay across the floor, he sheathed his blade and turned around. Drenyir caught him on the way out. "We're supposed to reach land today... this means something to you Nords, doesn't it?" he asked, drawing back another arrow, "to reach your homeland again." Bjorn put his head down, "Yes, this means a lot to us Nords. To me."

Bjorn returned to his perch, gazing out to the sea. The ice was getting thicker, and the crew had to work harder to maneuver the "Ice Wraith" through the flows. Bjorn's eyes scanned the horizon when he saw it. A cliff, sheared by the surf broke through the mist. He called back to the crew, who scattered to turn the ship. The ship began to shift, but the side collided with the cliff, showering the deck with rock and ice. Orendali burst onto the deck, "We're here? And you human idiots nearly destroyed my ship? What's the damage?" The captain desperately informed her that the ship's flank was not too badly damaged, but a few crew members were injured by the debris. She back-handed the captain, sending him staggering backward. "Follow the cliff," she ordered, walking to the front of the ship, "we reach the city today."

The "Ice Wraith" followed the rock closely. Oredali stood at the helm with a crude map that the Embassy dug up from somewhere. But Bjorn knew where they were. He had read the legends, seen the old maps. The cliff was the Black Wall, a huge outcropping off the southern most portion of Atmora. If you followed the cliff, it would lead to Pentyk Bay, which used to be commanded by the navy of Jylkurfyk. He smiled to himself, knowing that soon they'd reach the city. He had always imagined touching the ancient snow, and soon he'd be able to.

When they reached the bay, the ice broke away, revealing a channel of water that the "Ice Wraith" could easily travel through. Mariah had joined Bjorn on the deck, watching as the last fog broke. "By the Eight... is that it?" she murmured. Bjorn looked harder, and then he saw it. Fantastic spires rose in the distance, towers and buildings the likes of which no one had seen in thousands of years began to come into view. "Yes, this is it," Bjorn laughed. Mariah turned to him. "Are you happy to be here? I mean... I know this is anyone's first time being here but... the Nords were from here."

"Of course I am. This is our ancient home, and I plan on being the first Nord to come back."

"I wonder what it's like. Probably cold. But nothing could live here, right? Not after hundreds of years of relentless snow."

"I'm not sure, but that's why I'm here, and why Gharza is here. Just in case."

Orendali stepped out onto the deck, "Alright everybody. We're here. Make sure you have everything you need. Once we hit Jylkurfyk, there's no turning back.

When the "Ice Wraith" was at a safe distance, the landing party gathered in a landing boat and drifted to shore. The ancient skeleton of Jylkurfyk's harbor echoed and creaked as they passed through it, which gave the party chills. The dinghy bumped against the front of the harbor, and the party climbed out. Whispers and gasps resonated from the party. From a distance, Jylkurfyk looked untouched. But as the group walked towards the old city, their blood ran cold. The harbor was littered with destroyed ships, skeletons hanging over the rails, some decapitated. And the city itself was completely iced over. The buildings, which looked old and stone, were actually covered in a thick layer of ice. "The city was literally frozen in time... how could this happen?" Mariah gasped, turning her head every which was to take in all the sights. The sky was clouded and snow had already started falling. The grey sky had no glimpse of the sun. Drenyir pulled his coat up farther, "it's because the sun never shines here. Always cold. Always snowing. I may be used to the cold, but I'd feel sorry for whoever used to live 'ere."

The wind whistled through the buildings, making a low howl that unsettled Vallund. Their boots crunched in the snow and ice, a solid trail of footprints immediately being covered by the falling snow. Born noticed that carts and roadside stands were still in the streets, but they too were frozen over.

"Where are all the people?" Vallund whimpered, trying to keep pace in the deep snow.

"They probably fled. A mass exodus out of the cities when the cold set in. Probably to Skyrim, maybe Akavir, but no one really knows," Bjorn answered, keeping his hand over the hilt of his blade, "but I don't like it. Keep an eye out."

Orendali lead the group through the streets, passing what looked like homes, stores, and parks. It must've been beautiful in its day, Bjorn thought, as they passed a small park with a withered icy tree in the center. There was a sudden snap, like ice breaking, and Drenyir immediately readied an arrow. "Did you guys see it?" he breathed, his breath coming in calm, focused huffs, "someone...something... crossed an alley to our left."

Orendali just scoffed. "You're jumping at shadows, Dunmer," she scolded, not even bothering to look, "put that arrow back in your quiver. We've reached the Great Hall."

Bjorn looked ahead to see the road they were following led to a massive cathedral looking building. It reminded him of the Blue Palace, but older. Like what Saarthal must've looked like years ago. His excitement turned to irritation when he noticed the door was frozen completely solid, like the rest of the buildings.

Orendali turned to Mariah, "You there, mage. Get some fire on this door. We need in."

Mariah stepped forward, her hands igniting with flame. Gharza, Drenyir, and Bjorn formed a protective circle around Mariah, while Vallund inched closer to the flames, desperate to get warmer. Bjorn grew even more irritated. The damn High Elf stood by and watched idly while everyone was doing their jobs. Bjorn began to wonder what she was really doing on this mission. Why were the Thalmor interested in Atmora?

It took awhile, considering that the ice had been setting for thousands of years. But eventually Mariah's magic cut through the frost, and Gharza kicked it open. The massive doors creaked open, the light from the outside streaming in, illuminating the entrance hall. But beyond the light from the outside, the hall laid in darkness. The group walked in, weapons drawn, and Vallund cast a Candlelight. Like the outside, the interior was frozen solid, every table and bookshelf covering in a thick layer of ice. What the group saw inside was horrifying. Figures, Old Nords, frozen in time, sheathed in ice where they stood thousands of years ago. Every figure was running when they were frozen, their faces locked on a perpetual expression of pain and immense fear. Mariah gasped. "Who would do this? What happened to them?" she stammered. Vallund inspected a few of them, looking them over for any evidence. There was nothing that pointed to a cause. Orendali brushed past one, not even bothering to look. "Men," she murmured venomously, "they got what was coming to them."

The hall went on for quite a while, and the group took notice of every detail. At the end of the hall stood a massive statue of an unknown person, a Nord by the looks of it. Bjorn stepped forward and gave it a long look. The statue was at least ten feet tall, with a stance like the statues of Talos back in Skyrim. Like everything else, it was layered in thick ice, and any details or inscriptions were lost underneath it. While Bjorn admired the craftsmanship, the rest of the group separated to explore the rows of bookshelves.

"Hey! I think I've found something," shouted Drenyir. The rest of the group converged on his call to see what he found. Drenyir pointed to a bookshelf, "these look like maps, maybe. And I've seen this symbol multiple times. If it comes in volumes, it's probably useful, right?"

Mariah blasted the bookshelf with flames, careful not to burn the books, while Vallund cast another Candlelight. Bjorn observed his surroundings. Where was Orendali?

"Oh, screw this," Gharza snorted, "The sooner I get paid, the better. Outta my way." Gharza gro-Lorgan drew Bloodcleave and brought the massive hammer down on the ice sheet. The layer of frost exploded, showering the group with fragments. The books, however, were still intact. Mariah and Drenyir began gathering them, laying the maps out on a nearby table. While the group started pouring over the texts, Bjorn kept looking. Orendali was nowhere to be found.

"...so if this is Jylkurfyk," Mariah muttered, dragging her finger across the old paper, "then this.. should be Khartagyllum. The capital."

Drenyir stood up with a slight smile, "Well, then what are we waiting for? These books aren't going anywhere. We can get 'em on the way back."

Bjorn had been paying no attention to the group, rather he walked slowly, hand on his sword's grip, investigating. Tuning out the background map reading, he focused on the noises around him. He almost thought he heard paper being torn, and the crackle of a small fire. The smell of smoke. His pace increased to a brisk walk, towards the sounds of interest.

"Hey, where's Bjorn going?" Vallund asked curiously as he placed some interesting texts in his satchel. Drenyir sniffed the air, "A fire. C'mon."

Bjorn was nearing the source, his footsteps resonating through the massive room, the cracks of ice just as audible. Soon, he could see a faint orange glow. He was running now, vaulting over fallen pillars,drawing his sword. Bjorn rounded a corner and found himself between more bookshelves, and about halfway down the row he saw something that made his blood boil. Orendali Highbourne was ripping books off the shelves, specific volumes it would seem, and tossing them into a fire. The brittle books caught easily, and were ash in moments. Orendali Highbourne turned her gaze down the row, staring directly at Bjorn. The small fire reflected in the High Elf's eyes, and made her gaze seem intimidating and evil. She turned to face him in full, her regal cloaks shed to reveal a gleaming set of Aldmeri Officer's armor.

"You Altmer bastard!" Bjorn shouted with rage, his voice echoing, "these are sacred texts! Knowledge we should be preserving! And you... you Thalmor lapdog, are turning it to ash!"

Orendali held his gaze and started to laugh. Her hand ignited, and she lit the entirety of the bookshelf, every volume being engulfed in flame. Smoke billowed up to the ceiling, and the blaze made an intense light. Bjorn's sword was drawn already, and he issued a frightening battle cry as he charged. Oredali chuckled, and cast a firebolt down the hallway. Bjorn saw it too late and took the blast to the chest, his armor protecting him from the flame. However, the breastplate was blackened and burnt. When he righted himself and shook off the impact, Bjorn saw Orendali running. Taking in focused, heavy breaths, he gave chase, rounding corner after corner. The Altmer was fast, and blasted through one of the frozen figures, showering his pieces. While running, Bjorn grabbed a large, heavy piece of ice and heaved it towards Orendali. The chunk fractured on impact, hitting her in the back of the head. She stumbled and fell over a fallen pillar. Bjorn caught up and kicked her back down when she tried to stand.

"You Aldmeri sicken me," Bjorn spat, his eyes fixed on Orendali as she tried to right herself. "Here, this place of my ancestry, will be your-"

Bjorn's sentence was cut short by a whistling arrow, which pierced Orendali's throat through her armor. She sputtered, trying to speak, but the only words Bjorn could make out were, "...no more heroes. No more men.." Then the life left Orendali. Bjorn turned to shout, "Great shot, Drenyir!"

Drenyir and the rest of the group appeared behind him, panting from the chase. "Wasn't me, Bjorn." Drenyir huffed. Bjorn became confused, but snapped back into focus when he saw another arrow slip just past his face. Bjorn turned to the source and saw a hulking figure, at least seven feet tall, wielding a wicked bow. He dove to avoid the next volley, and Drenyir returned with an arrow of his own. Bjorn saw the shot pierce the assailant's shoulder, and it issued a ghastly screech before running out of the building. "What was that about?" Gharza asked gruffly.

"Nevermind that," answered Bjorn, "lets see what this Thalmor was hiding." Upon investigation of Orendali's satchel, they discovered a small note.

_Ms. Highbourne. This expedition to Atmora is expensive. But the Empire is weakening again. With most of Tamriel in our grasp already, we are ready for the final strike, the assault that will topple the Empire. But, the return of the Dragonborn so many years ago instilled hope within the Nords, and in turn, the Empire. The legends in Skyrim are running out, and a lone warrior or group of adventurers is bound to travel to Atmora eventually. There, they could gather ancient knowledge, and with their findings, come back to Tamriel and be seen as a hero. This cannot happen. Go to Jylkurfyk and destroy two series: 'The Ascension of Ysmir' as well as 'Night of the Red Snow'. These volumes contain the most inspiring Nord legends. Without them, any would-be explorer would not ascend to hero status in the eyes of Men. It is risky, but the populus of Skyrim are idiotic. They are easily fooled._

_Luck to you Ms. Highbourne. The Aldmeri Dominion recognizes your bravery._

Bjorn crushed the note in his fist. It was all a set-up. He was furious, and turned from the corpse of Orendali. The groups eyes followed him. Vallund spoke first. "We should return to the boat. We need to go back," he pleaded, "there are things out there, and now our supervisor is dead? We aren't safe!"

Gharza grabbed Vallund by the collar, "Look mage, I want the pay. We get to the capital, get the damn artifacts, and go back. Or by Malacath, I'll crush every bone in your body." Vallund shut up after that.

"So what do we do now, Bjorn?" Mariah asked, a trace of fear in her voice. Bjorn turned to answer, but then he heard a crash. The burning bookshelf collapsed, and the ice cracked across the floor. The fissure reached their feet. "Look out!" Bjorn shouted. Underneath them, the ice split open, and the group fell into blackness.

_...and the fingers of the ghost wrapped around his face. The icy grip was horrifying..._


	4. Zul Ko Faal Vul: Voice in the Dark

Chapter 4

_Zul Ko Faal Vul_

"Voice in the Dark"

_...Bjorn fought against the ghost's grip, writhing in pain as the freezing hand tightened..._

"I think he's waking up! C'mon Bjorn..."

… _The ghost hissed, mist seeping from it's skeletal mouth. Bjorn's hands burned as he pulled the arm away..._

"I'm doing my best, Drenyir!"

_...Bjorn felt warmth return to him, pushing the ghost away. It howled like the arctic wind..._

"He's coming to. Stand back."

… _The spirit staggered backwards and evaporated into the fog. Bjorn stood up, his strength returning..._

Bjorn gasped, righting himself. He looked up, seeing the faces of the research team around him. Mariah's hands were glowing with a radiant light, but when Bjorn sat up the light vanished. The hole in the ceiling showered a faint blue light on the group, and Bjorn could see Mariah smiling. Bjorn tried to stand, almost collapsing from a spiraling pain in his leg. Mariah and Drenyir caught him, hoisting him onto his feet.

"You were out cold for a while, Bjorn," Drenyir said, "but luckily, Mariah fixed your leg up as best she could."

Mariah was still smiling. "It took a lot out of me, to keep that healing spell going," she said proudly, "I'm just glad you're up again."

Bjorn thanked them both and found his footing. He winced a little, but Nords are known to be tough. He look upwards, noticing the gaping hole that was once a floor in the Great Hall. About 30 feet up was Orendali's body, not that Bjorn really cared anyway. Upon further investigation, he noticed Gharza was missing. Drenyir informed him that the fall dropped them into a tunnel. Gharza left about half an hour ago to scout ahead.

"Have you tried climbing up the sides?" Bjorn asked.

Drenyir just laughed, "Of course I have. That's smooth ice there. Couldn't climb that if you had spiked feet."

The group gathered around Bjorn as he began to walk, keeping an eye on him so that he didn't fall. Gharza came back shortly after, telling them the tunnel stretched onwards for quite a ways. Bjorn didn't like it, but came to the realization that spending a night in the tunnel might be necessary. The tunnel was rounded, carved by wind and running water. The ice along the edges was smooth to the touch, and the ground was a mix of slush, stone, and rubble. Vallund's Candlelight spell proved very effective; the cave was jet black. The group walked in silence for almost an hour, listening for any signs of life. For any signs of anything. The only noise that met their ears was the trickle of water, but they couldn't tell exactly where it was coming from.

The crunch of boots on gravel and snow was soon a familiar sound, the tunnel curving every which way, but ultimately going in one direction. Not once did they see an alternate path. Then Bjorn found something. He leaned into one of the walls, getting a closer look at something he saw behind the ice. He strained to see through the thick layer of ice, but he stumbled backwards when he confirmed his belief. "Sweet breath of Arkay..." Drenyir whispered. It was a body, like the ones in the Great Hall, frozen in the wall, it's face contorted in a deathly wail that was silenced in seconds. Bjorn continued to scan the walls. They were everywhere. Some corpses, some just skeletons, but all were forever poised in a terrifying state, running from some unknown enemy or writhing in pain. The group was immediately discomforted by the fact that the very tunnel they walked was walled with bodies of the deceased.

They kept walking, following the tunnel. It seemed to go on forever. Bjorn noticed his feet starting to drag. He was tired, and he knew it. And a quick glance at all the others made him realize he wasn't the only one. "Alright, I suppose we could rest here. We can't keep walking forever," Bjorn panted, suddenly realizing just how exhausted he was. Everyone's satchel kept basic supplies, things like firewood, bedrolls, and salted meats. Finding a spot in the tunnel where the ground was mostly stone and not snow, they threw down their bedrolls and lit up a small fire for warmth. Bjorn paid no attention to the cold in the tunnel, but Vallund and Mariah began to shiver, drawing their coats higher up on their shoulders. Besides the crackle of the fire and the whistle of an unknown breeze, the tunnel was deathly quiet.

Finally, Vallund broke the silence. All eyes turned to him as he stood up. "So... what do we do now? Are we really heading to Khartagyllum?" he questioned, eyeing Gharza worriedly. "I mean... I have the maps but-"

Gharza gro-Lorgan was up in an instant, grabbing the Redguard by the throat, smashing him against the wall of the tunnel. Gharza pushed his face in close, hissing his response. "Look Remis. I've had just about enough of your whining. We're going to the capital. After I get those artifacts, I don't give a damn about what happens to any of you."

Bjorn pulled Gharza away from Vallund while Drenyir and Mariah helped him sit. "I don't care much for your attitude, Gharza," Bjorn asserted, pushing the Orc a few paces back. "Just what in Oblivion is your problem?"

Gharza growled, his face showing a building rage. But he huffed out a few angry breaths before speaking civil again. "You want to know why I'm angry? Especially at that damn Redguard over there?" he replied, sitting down on a stone. "I used to be a mighty warrior back in Orsimar. General of the Guard at Lorgan fortress. The fortress my family kept for generations. One night, when the moons were covered by clouds, a damn invasion force from Hammerfell swarmed into my Hold, slaughtering everyone in my fortress and burning it to the ground." Gharza shot an angry glare at Vallund, who only tucked himself deeper into his coat. Gharza continued, "My father, my sister, and myself were the only ones that survived. Upon seeing them again, my father stripped me of my title and exiled me. I wouldn't dare travel south into Hammerfell, so I went north into Skyrim. I kept my hammer, and work as a merc. Yeah, I pulled some crimes, killed some people. But it's what I do." Gharza had had enough, and laid down on his bedroll. "That night," he concluded, "I never trusted a Redguard again. So watch yourself, Remis."

Bjorn listened to the end, wondering how many people Gharza had told that to. Drenyir laid his bow to the side and laid down to rest too, saying that they'd better make it out of the cave tomorrow. Vallund also went to sleep, laying his bedroll completely opposite of Gharza's. Soon, only Bjorn and Mariah were still up, sitting in silence. A few times, she'd send out a small firebolt, reigniting the fire. She sighed, and looked up at Bjorn with a small smile.

"I guess I'll have to stay up all night to keep this going, huh?" she joked, crossing her legs.

Bjorn smiled back, "You might. I could always wake up Vallund and make him summon a flame atronach."

They both laughed. It seemed so unreal, to be stuck in a tunnel deep underneath a continent miles away from their homeland, but they were actually laughing. Mariah stood up and walked towards him, gesturing towards the rock he was sitting on. "May I?"

Bjorn nodded and made room. Suddenly, he remembered something. He reached into his satchel and found the items he took from Orendali's bag. Not only did it contain the Aldmeri Dominion instructions, but it also contained a letter for Mariah. Bjorn took it out and handed it to her.

"I was supposed to let you know this came, but it kind of slipped my mind on the boat," he admitted, slightly flushed. "That traitorous Altmer was supposed to give it to you, but I guess she can't do that now."

Mariah took the note and unfolded it. "It's... it's a letter, dated a few days before we left for Atmora. From my parents in Ivarstead... but how?" She scanned the entirety of the note, and Bjorn noticed a tear slide down her cheek. She leaned against him, sobbing quietly. Bjorn picked up the note:

_My dearest Mariah,_

_I know it has been some time since you heard from us, but we knew you'd be busy at the College. To reassure you, we have been getting your letters, but the College requested we do not reply to them. Looking back now, I understand we should've tried to contact you. A few days ago, there was a bandit raid on our little town. They swept in from the pass at dawn. Your father was out tilling the garden. Mariah, your father was killed. The guards stopped them from hurting anyone else, but your father was unlucky enough to be one of the two deaths. I've been informed that you're going on a journey, away from Skyrim. I wish you luck, darling. Don't worry about me, however much I wish you were here to see his burial._

_Love, Mom_

Bjorn was shocked. But he should've guessed that the lapdog Orendali wouldn't deliver this when they were boarding. She needed her "team" focused. Bjorn wrapped his arm around her shoulder, holding her close. She cried into his shoulder for what seemed like forever. Her arms wrapped around his waist. Bjorn didn't have anything to say, and did what he could to comfort her. After what felt like hours, she calmed down a bit and stood up. Her eyes were red, her face streaked with tears. "Thank you, Bjorn..." she managed to choke out. She returned to her bedroll and pulled up the blanket. Bjorn watched her, making sure she fell asleep uninterrupted. He looked over his group. They all slept soundly, except Gharza, who was constantly tossing, as if in pain. He'd heard stories about waking a sleeping Orc, and decided to leave him be. Before laying down on his own bedroll, he put more wood in the fire and made sure it caught. It would be a cold night...

_Bjorn could hear voices, but couldn't make out words. The world was still black, and he could not move. Someone was shouting, while the other hissed coldly. He could hear swords ringing, some close by, some in the distance. There was thunder, and sounds of battle. Bjorn's mind raced. Was he dead? Where was he? The sounds of battle began to fade, replaced with the sound of sobbing amongst singing. It was a funeral song. The world remained black, but Bjorn could smell smoke from a fire, and burning flesh. It lasted for hours, and Bjorn's sense of smell was becoming overwhelmed. Bjorn's mind burned, partly from the smell, the other part wondering if a dead man _could_ smell. He felt himself being lifted, and then heard the grinding of stone on stone, followed by a loud slam. Suddenly, Bjorn heard nothing, nothing but the whistle of a breeze, like wind in a cave. He could not move, he could not see. He tried to scream, but no sound left his being. Then there was a brilliant flash of light, and he was blinded by it, and deafened by the ringing in his ears..._

Bjorn rose first. Another nightmare, but not one he'd had before. This one was a mystery to him. He couldn't figure it out. He stood up and gathered his things. Observing his surroundings, he became slightly irritated. No way to tell the time, no way to see where the sun stood in the sky. Nothing but the sound of trickling water and the howl of the wind through the tunnel. How long had he slept? He roused the others, who rose sleepily. Drenyir rolled up his bedroll and slung his bow over his shoulder. Vallund was startled awake, fully convinced it was Gharza making an attempt at his life. "Hmph," Gharza snorted, rolling his eyes. "You're just a waste of a hammer swing."

When everyone was ready, they started walking once more. While Bjorn adjusted his pack, Mariah tapped him on the shoulder. She looked innocent, almost embarrassed. "I'm sorry about last night..." she whispered, lowering her head. "I should've been stronger. But thank you."

Bjorn nodded his head. "If you all...are going to be following me now, you need to trust me, and I all of you," he said, trying to sound understanding, "if you need to talk, I will listen."

Mariah looked back up at him, wearing a small, almost hidden, smile. She pulled her coat up and started walking.

* * *

Like the day before, the tunnel twisted, but never branched off. They walked for hours, Bjorn and Drenyir leading the way with the others in tow. Vallund, as usual, lit the way, but remained as far away as he could from entire walk, Bjorn and Drenyir talked about their homelands, laughing and joking about old stories.

"... so there I was, against an old standing stone," laughed Drenyir as he recalled the event, "and the draugr were closing in. My mother always told me not to go near those ruins, but I was young. I had dropped my bow, and thought for sure I was dead when-" he stopped to laugh, remembering the event, "then this boar came outta nowhere and bull-rushed them. I swear, if you could see fear in a draugr's face, then that was it. I turned tail and ran, but that boar was relentless! I hear these Skyrim draugr can Shout at you; these two couldn't stand up to a pig!"

Both Bjorn and Drenyir laughed louder. Bjorn, for once, enjoyed his company. Drenyir was the closest thing to a friend he'd ever had.

"When this is all over, if you ever find yourself in Solitude, meet me at the Winking Skeever," Bjorn joked. "I'll even get the owner to mount a boar's head!"

The two laughed again, but fell silent when they realized that there was light. Not a bright light, but light. They turned to see if Vallund still had a Candlelight going, which he didn't. The group exchanged looks before taking off at a full sprint towards the light. The ice and snow crunched beneath their feet, and the light kept getting brighter. They rounded a corner and cheered in excitement. They were at the tunnel mouth, and light from Atmora's clouded sky poured into the cave. They stepped out of the tunnel and basked in the open air. The wind bit at their faces, but they paid no mind. It was wind, and not a breeze that had twisted its way through an ice tunnel. The celebration was short-lived, however, when two large animals skulked their way back to the cave mouth.

They were about the size of a sabre cat, and looked very similar, mind the icy blue eyes and twisted horns growing from their heads. They snarled at the group, gnashing their jaws revealing ghastly razor teeth. They lunged at the group, but they were ready. Bjorn's sword was out in a flash, as was Drenyir's bow. Vallund soon commanded a Storm Atronach, and Mariah's hands crackled with lightning. Bjorn side-stepped the first lunge, swinging his sword as the monstrosity roared past. The blade slashed the creature's flank, but it turned swiftly and renewed its attack. Drenyir peppered its other flank with arrows, which did nothing but irritate it. Drenyir rolled away from another lunge, and the creature immediately spun to attack Bjorn. It's claws lashed out, carving gashes into his armor, but not reaching his skin. Bjorn shouted his battle cry, and brought his blade down on the creature's head. It roared in pain and fell to the ground, staining the snow a deep purple. He turned to see about the other, which had become nearly hairless from its burns, yet it did not relent. Bjorn hurried to Mariah and Vallund's aid. The Atronach began to pummel the creature, but the beast merely rolled away and came back. It's jaw opened and came down to bite, sinking its teeth into Vallund's leg. He screamed in pain, repeatedly stabbing the creature in the face with his spare dagger. Drenyir timed a shot, and loosed his arrow, sending it deep into the eye of the creature. It groaned, and collapsed on the ground.

Bjorn pried the jaws from Vallund's leg, who was breathing hard, but making no other noise. He had fallen into shock. The Atronach evaporated, and Mariah attempted to heal the leg. Then Bjorn noticed something. Gharza had disappeared again. Drenyir and Bjorn stood up to look around to find Gharza stumbling out of the cave, wildly flailing his arms, as if swatting away flies the others couldn't see. He pushed past Drenyir and Bjorn, and he noticed that Gharza's eyes were tinted with an icy blue. He uttered noises and grunts, but no cohesive words as he walked by. He eventually stood over Vallund and pushed Mariah out of the way. He slowly pulled Bloodcleave from his back, his utterings getting louder. Vallund's wild eyes settled on Gharza, but he could not move. Gharza raised the hammer above his head, his utterings becoming words. "Not again... never again! _My home!" _he screamed, bringing down Bloodcleave on Vallund. The rest of the group turned away, but the sickening crack and splatter of blood told them all they needed to know.  
"No!" shouted Bjorn, rushing towards the crazed Orc, sword in hand.

"You... you ally with _him_? _Lorgan kill you too!_"

Gharza swung his hammer wildly, but Bjorn dodged the swing and drove his sword into Gharza. The Orc dropped his hammer and looked down at the sword in his gut. His eyes were now completely blue, his pupils rolling into his head. A deep purple blood seeped out of his wound, and he collapsed. Bjorn staggered back, dropping his sword. "What... what was that? What happened?" he stammered.

Mariah looked at the creatures, and then at the pool of blood around Gharza's corpse. She took a breath, trying to find the words. "It's... it's a condition called Mindfrost..." she quivered, kneeling down to examine the wound. "It's a condition, very few recorded cases, where the brain, under extremely cold and stressful conditions, may 'snap', causing the afflicted to... see things. Visualize old memories. Make the infected go crazy. The dark blood signifies oxygen loss but the eyes..." she turned to Bjorn, "I've never heard of that before. You did what you needed to Bjorn."

Bjorn stood up, still staring at the two corpses in front of him. When he focused on the world again, he noticed the snow began to fall harder. "Mariah, can you cast clairvoyance?" he asked, "we need to know which way is north."

The misty trail of the spell ran north, and Bjorn looked off into the distance. "We're too close now. We can't turn back to Jylkurfyk, not in this weather," he gazed across the expanse, nothing but flat white until he could see no further. "We need to reach Khartagyllum."


	5. Sizaan Ko Faal Ven: Lost in the Wind

Chapter 5

_Sizaan Ko Faal Ven_

"Lost in the Wind"

The group stood in silence for a long while, the wind howling around them. The bodies of Vallund and Gharza lay in pools of their own blood, the life lost in them. Bjorn sighed, and turned to Drenyir and Mariah.

"Well, we can't quite bury them. Not in snow. It's not right," he breathed, still at a loss for words.

Mariah looked up, but didn't direct her eyes towards anyone in particular. "I suppose we could freeze them into the cave wall," she offered quietly, "leave them with other lost warriors."

Drenyir and Bjorn nodded solemnly and moved to lift the corpses. Bjorn lifted Vallund first. Bjorn almost thought to shut the Redguard's eyelids, but was forced to recall that Vallund's head had been crushed by Gharza's hammer. The Dark Elf and the Nord hoisted Vallund against the ice wall of the tunnel and pinned him against it, letting Mariah's frost magic freeze him in place. Mariah covered him completely, leaving nothing exposed to the elements so to ensure his remains lasted for a long time. Bjorn and Drenyir moved to lift Gharza, and the two struggled with the dead weight of the Orc. They did the same to Gharza, pressing him against the cave wall, opposite of Vallund. Mariah began to freeze him in place while Bjorn took another look at the Orc's eyes: icy blue, almost fragmented, like the splitting of the Sea of Ghosts. He was filled with anger and disdain towards the traitor, even if it wasn't entirely his fault.

"Stop, Mariah." he muttered.

Mariah stopped the frost, leaving Gharza's head exposed to the wind. She turned to Bjorn curiously.

"I know it was the disease, but he's still a murderer," Bjorn explained, "leave his head open. The elements will take care of him. Let him be comparable to his victim."

Mariah could only nod affirmatively, and turned away from the bodies. It worked effectively and the bodies stayed in place. Atmora's cold would keep them there eternally, forever a testament to the dangers of this land.

Drenyir slung his bow over his shoulder and turned to the cat-beasts. "You know," he began, gesturing towards the bodies, "we could skin them. Extra pelt, extra warmth.. follow?" Bjorn couldn't answer, but turned to Mariah. She put her hand to her chin quizzically, thinking about the options. She sighed deeply and turned to Drenyir.

"We shouldn't attempt it, its not safe."

Drenyir took a step towards her, "Why not? And you're saying the snow fields out there _are_ safe?"

"I never said that, Drenyir, I-"

"The cold could kill us in minutes if we're not careful!"

"And Mindfrost could kill us in seconds!"

Drenyir recoiled at the response. "We don't know anything about how it works. All we know is that those... things had it. And I don't want to see another of us put down because of it."

Drenyir glanced back longingly at the thick fur pelt of the cats, but eventually agreed that it was too big a risk. The group, now diminished to three, turned their back to the cave and started walking across the endless expanse of snow.

The cold bit at their faces, the wind ripping at their coats as they trudged across the snow banks. It usually didn't bother him, but here, the cold had Bjorn pulling his coat up higher, sinking into the fur. The others had already reached their tolerance level, with Drenyir holed up as tightly as he could, and Mariah kept a small flame alight in her hands in an attempt to keep warm. Bjorn trekked across the plains in front, leading the others forward. They hadn't needed to turn; Mariah's clairvoyance pointed them true to the capital. Bjorn gritted his teeth as the snow tore at the bare skin of his face. He tried to look forward, but the driving flakes peppered his eyes, forcing him to look down once more. His boots sunk in the snow a few inches, but he couldn't tell how deep it actually was.

Night fell before too long, and the group worked with magic to dig a small cave to hole up in. A tall bank offered decent protection from the wind and snow, and huddled together they managed to stay warm enough. Drenyir peered out of the snow bank and looked to the sky. The ever-present clouds were dark, and the snow made it impossible to see more than a few feet. They huddled into the dugout, spreading the few blankets they had and sinking further into their coats. Drenyir was on one side, and Mariah was on the other, pressed against Bjorn's shoulder. She was thumbing through a small leather book, scribbling down something Bjorn couldn't see. He decided not to pry, and turned to the clouds.

The hours passed without Bjorn noticing. He kept looking up into the clouds, watching them swirl aggressively, the snow falling in blankets. He'd never seen such snow, which was a rare event for a Nord. But he was focused on something more perplexing. The clouds churned madly, almost unnaturally. Bjorn spent the time contemplating what this land was and why things were so different from Tamriel. Perhaps they would never know. Perhaps, he thought, the capital would reveal the secrets.

Drenyir had passed out from exhaustion, his lazy breaths overpowering the wind outside. Mariah, on the other hand, only pretended to rest. She watch through nearly closed eyes, silently observing the Nord next to her. She respected him. His natural leadership, his determination, and his steadfast protection of the group was admirable. But she felt something closer. Tucked away at the College since she was young, she never experienced love. She was always content to tuck her nose into her studies rather than appeal to the many men who attempted to court her, but now... in this land... was it just that she wanted protection, or was this real? Eventually sleep called for, and its sweet song let her drift away. Bjorn felt Mariah relax, moving slightly closer to him. He took one last look at the dark sky before he closed his eyes for the night.

_...The snow fell in flurries. Bjorn looked around, noticing that he was surrounded by many armed soldiers, all bearing different insignia. They appeared anxious, dressed head to toe in an unfamiliar armor and wielded awesome, ancient weapons. To Bjorn's left, Ysgrammor stood tall, discussing something with what appeared to be a decorated general. He kept observing, and it occurred to him that this was Jylkurfyk. Behind him, the Sea of Ghosts churned in the fog. He almost thought he could hear the wails of lost spirits. To the north stretched the Great Snow Plains. Ysgrammor approached him and leaned to whisper in his ear._

"_None of the Capital Armies have arrived. We're missing the Snow, Earth, and Wind Regiments..." Ysgrammor sighed heavily. "We only have 500 soldiers for the conquest," he muttered, twirling Wuuthrad in his hand anxiously, "I fear it will not be enough. This attack will have to be quick and desperate. But say nothing to the soldiers, lest they lose faith in our goal."_

_Bjorn had no inclination to reply, yet words left his mouth regardless. "How shorthanded are we, father?" he asked worriedly._

_Ysgrammor looked out to the Great Snow Plains, speaking low and solemnly, "we're short some 1500 men. They are Atmora's finest. Their... absence unsettles me."_

_The decorated General approached Ysgrammor, resting a hand on his shoulder, "the time is upon us. We will have to make due with what we have. General Hyrandus and the other soldiers will be mourned later, but now we must set sail, before the ice sets in!"_

_Ysgrammor nodded and told Bjorn to walk to his ship. Bjorn looked once again to the north, hoping to see the soldiers. Instead, he was horrified by a monstrous silhouette in the distance. It's scream could be heard for miles and Bjorn's Nord blood ran cold._

Drenyir woke him the next morning, roughly shaking his shoulder, rousing him from the dream. Bjorn peered out of the snowdrift; the sky hadn't changed, still swirling dark and clouded. Drenyir stepped out, followed by Bjorn. The snow had let up a little, falling in light flurries, which was a welcome relief. He helped Mariah out of the snowdrift and they started walking once more. Without the blankets of snow, visibility had increased greatly, and all of them were grateful for it. They kept a sharp eye out for dangers, constantly scanning the horizon. The mountains that straddled the snow plain slowly began to recede, and eventually the group stood in the middle of what appeared to be an infinite white expanse. Mariah cast clairvoyance again, and it still pointed them true. But before they could take more than a few steps, the wind howled viciously, biting their skin and making them cast up their coats to protect themselves.

A distant wail echoed around them, and no matter which way they turned, the sound was overpowering. Bjorn shut his eyes and covered his ears, the wail bringing back his tormenting nightmares. He was shaken back into the world when Mariah grabbed his arm. He turned to her, her eyes squinted against the wind. She pointed out on the horizon to the northwest. She sounded alarmed. "What in Oblivion is that?"

Figures appeared in the distance. First a few stepped out of the chilling fog, then more, and more still, marching in ranks towards the group. One was higher, one would guess on horseback. As the figures drew closer, Drenyir drew back an arrow in anticipation. The figures were clad in old armor, and Bjorn immediately recognized it from his dream the previous night. Their features came into view as they approached. Some had dead eyes, others didn't have any. Their skin was transparent, and their skeletal frames glided across the deep snow effortlessly. The one on a mount approached the group. He wasn't on horseback, rather he rode a spirit steed of some ghastly, foreign creature. Drenyir dropped his arrow as he backed into Bjorn. Bjorn didn't move, didn't even reach for his blade. There were hundreds, maybe thousands, all around them.

"It's a.. ghost army.." Mariah gasped, also backing into Bjorn, keeping the trio tight and alert. The mounted soldier, adorned in an ancient armor far more illustrious than the other soldiers, strode up to them. None of the spirit soldiers drew their weapons. They merely wavered in the wind, as if they were confused. The adorned figure dissipated into an icy mist, reforming off his steed, a few paces from Bjorn.

"Who are you?" Bjorn asked, planting his foot, attempting to keep calm and intimidating. The ghost cocked his head, perplexed at the dialect that Bjorn used. After a moment, its ghastly mouth gnashed, attempting to make words. Finally, it spoke.

"...I have only heard your language in the whispers of the dead.." it replied, its voice ancient and raspy. "But I am Hyrandus. General Hyrandus, commander of the Khartagyllum Wind Regiment. I've been expecting you for some time."

Bjorn looked puzzled, but let his confusion pass and resumed his threatening pose, "I have never met you before, but you have my attention. I am Bjorn Frosthammer, from Solitude. This is Mariah, an Imperial mage, and Drenyir, a Dunmer huntsman." At the mention of an elf, the ghost army wailed, it's howls blending with the wind.

"I'm well aware of who you are" Hyrandus sighed, "... but you are not of my time. I only wish I had seen your land long ago."

"What do you mean?"

"Ah... so even your history forgets us. You must know of Ysgrammor and his 500 companions. There was to be far more than 500, you know."

"I have heard of the legend. I was raised on it. Now explain yourself."

The ghost smiled, it's ancient, transparent skin wrinkling and cracking, "I would be honored. When Ysgrammor gathered his men to destroy the accursed elves after the Night of Tears, only 500 arrived to set sail. The great capital of Khartagyllum heard his pleas, and sent it's best regiments to aid him in this great conquest. The Snow Regiment, the Earth Regiment, and ourselves, the Wind Regiment, were dispatched to aid the mighty Ysgrammor. When we left Khartagyllum however..." his voice wavered as he looked past Bjorn, to the south. "A great storm set in. On this waste we wandered, lost in the wretched snow. We lost sight of the other regiments, but we continued to march. We never reached the harbor. Instead, _she _found us."

Mariah stepped forward. "Who is 'she'? What did she do to you?"

The old ghost lowered his head, dreading the memory. "We could hear the other soldiers wailing in agony, carried by the bitter wind. We brought dishonor to Atmora, and we retreated. Alas, we were still lost. Then she found us as well, descending upon our ranks, devouring those who couldn't escape. Her screams flooded my men with the darkest of thoughts, and her piercing eyes terrified even the hardiest of souls. We ran like cowards, and she left us to our doom. We've wandered for thousands of years, cursed to walk this realm because of our retreat... and our failure."

Hyrandus lifted his head again, fixing his cold, dead eyes on Bjorn. Bjorn slowly gripped his sword, preparing for an ambush. The words slipped out of the ancient general so quietly, Bjorn almost didn't hear them.

"She's the Snowstrider."

"The what?"

Hyrandus stepped closer, resting a hand on Bjorn's shoulder. Bjorn tensed, expecting a paralyzing grasp, like his nightmares. Hyrandus' touch was cold, but nothing Bjorn couldn't handle. "She'll be coming for you. The Snowstrider. Tiber Septim hurt her greatly before he left Atmora forever. Blinded her, giving her an undying hatred for men, Nedes, and Nords alike. She will hunt you, Bjorn Frosthammer. Mark my words. Coming here was a grave mistake, for whatever motivation called you home. Khartagyllum is lost, but I will still point you there."

Hyrandus' bony finger cast out to the north. "A few more miles across the wastes," he instructed, his head lowered once again, "you will reach the Highway. The tunnel will take you to our capital." He slowly cast his gaze on Bjorn, " I wish you luck with her."

Bjorn stepped forward once again, "wait, her? Her who? What is the Strider!"

But the ghost army began to dissolve, screaming into the wind. One bumped into Drenyir, knocking him over. Soon, the army was gone, leaving nothing but the wind and the snow. Drenyir stood up, brushing the snow from his chest, "I could have sworn that ghost said 'damn that elf. But what can I do?" he spat on the ground, "nothin'. Thats what."

Mariah knelt to the ground, plunging a hand into the snow. A look of horror and surprise crossed her face as she closed her fist on something solid. She unearthed a femur from the snow, immediately tossing it away. Drenyir helped her dust the snow away and trembled at the discovery. Nede skeletons, many missing limbs or skulls, lay hidden under the snow, some twisted into anguished death throes. "What could have done this? This isn't a chance find," exclaimed Drenyir stepping towards Bjorn, "there must be thousands dead. What in Arkay's name happened here?"

Bjorn clenched his fist in frustration and befuddlement. He turned to Drenyir and Mariah, "Her. The Snowstrider," he explained, his voice holding back his anger, "there's... only one piece of history on the Strider. A few sentences. Many historians regard it as a silly myth; a bedtime story for children. Once, a great beast walked these plains, and when the Great Frost came, it was cursed with immortality to protect the capital from invaders. It... turned on the king, and stalks the plains hungrily. Legend says Tiber Septim battled it before he left for Tamriel. He blinded it, stabbing out it's eyes, leaving it in perpetual agony and with a never-ending hatred for all living things. It was said to be undefeatable, the immortality curse defying time as well as wounds. But... It can't possibly still be here... its been thousands of years. Can we really trust a lost spirit like Hyrandus?"

Before either could respond, the ground began to tremble and a fearsome roar pushed through the wind. It was an ungodly noise, unlike anything they'd heard before. Mariah's hands crackled with power, and Bjorn readied his blade. Drenyir turned to the noise, drawing an arrow back. "I think your question is about to be answered."


	6. Bahlok Fah Dinok: Hunger for Death

Chapter 6

_Bahlok Fah Dinok_

"Hunger for Death"

The ground shook violently, the group fighting to keep their footing. Bjorn's grip tightened around his blade, his teeth gritting in anticipation. Drenyir tightened his posture, drawing his arrow back fully. His eyes didn't twitch or waiver, vigilantly watching the clouded horizon. Mariah stumbled a little, but righted herself quickly, her hands still glowing with readied magicka. Suddenly, the trembling stopped and only the wind moved on the snow plains. The silence ascended from uncomfortable to unbearable. Bjorn grew angry and shouted into the wind. "Where are you?! Come on then! Show yourself!"

Their ears were met the same ungodly wail that they heard before, echoing around them as if from everywhere at once. The ground thundered again at its approach. Then the silhouette appeared against the mist. Bjorn's grip loosened as his eyes widened in terror. The beast was massive.

It left the mist, it's details becoming visible. It was snow-white with red accents along it's bony carapace ridges. It walked on six legs, four of them ending like a spider's, but the foremost limbs ended with large clawed hands. It had a long tail, ending with a mace-like tip, bristling with spikes. The beast's head was long, like a dragon's, with two rows of razor teeth in it's maw. It's one defining feature were the streaks of dark purple just below each of it's four eyes, dried blood from when Tiber Septim battled the Snowstrider, blinding it. It retained it's undying hatred towards the living, and it now fixated it's gaze on the trio below it.

It's legs began to move, pushing it towards the group. Drenyir lost his focus, releasing his arrow, which sailed through the air only to bounce off the beast's chest with a saddening *click*. It wailed at them, showing it's layers of stained teeth, still approaching. The Snowstrider didn't bother moving quickly; the trio had no hope of escape. Bjorn's feet locked up, refusing to carry him, leaving him paralyzed with fear. The beast raised it's hand to strike, and only then did Bjorn have the strength to run. The trio scattered as the clawed hand smashed into the ground, sending clumps of snow and bone into the air. The impact tremor shook the earth, stumbling the runners.

Mariah got within earshot of Bjorn, who was dusting some of the snow off of himself. "What do we do?" she yelled, her voice barely carrying above the wind and the groans of the Snowstrider. Bjorn ran to her, desperately trying to think of a plan. The beast threw it's head back and forth, sniffing the air and listening for the sounds of it's prey. It turned to Bjorn and Mariah and thundered forward once more. Bjorn looked it over, searching for any weakness. It's entire body was covered with chitin-like carapace armor, it's only soft spot being the eyes, which were already stabbed out. As Bjorn analyzed it's body, Mariah set her hands ablaze, coating the ground with a wall of fire. The orange glow cast terrifying shadows on the beast, the sudden heat sending it reeling backwards. It was here Bjorn found the Snowstrider's weakness. Bjorn noticed the joints in the legs were left unarmored, so the beast could move with ease. Within the break of the armor, he could make out what appeared to be soft flesh. Bjorn had a plan, and was now looking for Drenyir.

The Snowstrider wailed again, it's scream deafening Bjorn. Mariah's flame were waning as she struggled to build a wall to contain the beast. The wind was picking up, and her flames wouldn't last long. Bjorn found Drenyir face down in the snow. Terror struck at his heart, and he rushed over to the Dunmer, praying to the Divines he was alive. At his approach, Drenyir rolled onto his side and lazily got to his feet. Bjorn helped him stand, keeping an eye on Mariah valiantly keeping the beast at bay. Drenyir shook his head and staggered for a moment, but was soon his old self again. "I got hit in the head with somethin'," he explained, picking up his bow, "I'm still in this fight."

"Good," Bjorn nodded, placing a hand on the Dark Elf's shoulder, "because I'm going to need your best shots."

"Every shot is my best shot. Where am I shooting?"

"At it's joints, in the legs. There isn't any armor there," Bjorn smiled wryly, "we might be able to bring it down."

Drenyir nodded, drawing back an arrow.

When Bjorn looked back towards Mariah, he saw her struggling to keep the beast away. It was beginning to push it's way into the fire, snapping it's jaws at Mariah. Bjorn charged forward, screaming terrifying battle cry. The Snowstrider turned it's head to the Nord, spreading it's jaws and roaring at him. The beast stepped away from Mariah and thundered towards Bjorn. Bjorn stood his ground and shouted to Drenyir, "Do it now!"

The arrow whistled through the bitter air and sunk into the Snowstrider's flesh with sickening squelch. The Snowstrider screeched and took another step, but Drenyir already loosed another arrow, striking the beast again in it's fleshy knee. The leg buckled, and the Strider fell to the ground with a crash like thunder. Bjorn lunged forward, clambering up the beasts head as it lurched around, trying to stand. Drenyir, unmoving and utterly focused, continued to fire his arrows, crippling the creatures legs. Bjorn steadied himself, confident, and thrust his sword down into the creatures head.

The blade shattered, splintering like ice, leaving Bjorn nothing but the hilt. He was stunned and lost his balance, the creature swinging it's neck and sending Bjorn back into the snow. After a moment, the creature stretched it's legs and the arrows snapped off, the Strider righted itself as if nothing had happened. It was on it's feet a few moments later, inspired with even more rage towards the group.

Mariah and Drenyir hoisted Bjorn out of the snow drifts, still stunned. "C'mon then," Drenyir huffed, pulling Bjorn to his feet, "we can't beat this thing! We gotta go!"

Bjorn steadied himself and felt his feet start to move, following Mariah and Drenyir deeper into the snow plains. The earth trembled under the feet of the Strider, still in pursuit. Bjorn called ahead.

"What the ghost said... it's untouchable. It can't be killed."

"Yeah, we got that part of it," Drenyir growled.

"We need to find some kind of shelter," Mariah shouted, swinging her head around the horizon. "If we can't beat it, then maybe we can hide from it."

Ahead of them, a black shape began to appear through the snow and the wind. It was a looming, stone building, a hollowed out, abandoned shell of a city. Bjorn noticed it, but immediately got a bad feeling in his bones. Something wasn't right there, but he kept quiet. They needed shelter, and that overruled his sense of premonition.

Drenyir pointed ahead. "There. That looks like a structure of some kind. A ruin maybe."

The group veered off towards the structure, the outlines and silhouettes taking shape. The three weaved their way through the ruins, finding solace from the wind within a mostly intact structure. They could still hear the Snowstrider thundering across the plains, hunting them down, it's wails carrying across the wind. Mariah curled up, hugging her knees. She wouldn't dare light a fire, the glow would draw too much attention. Drenyir spoke first.

"We need to find a weakness here. I don't believe this n'wah is immortal. Nothing can _not_ be killed, right? We were told Alduin was immortal, but the Dragonborn beat 'em. We were told the Daedra were immortal, but the books say Akatosh beat Mehrunes Dagon back to his own realm, right? What makes this overgrown Frostbite Spider any different?"

Bjorn acknowledge, but didn't lift his head. "How then? Our arrows did nothing. My sword, steel I tempered myself after years of apprenticeship, shattered over it's hide. How can we stop the unstoppable?"

"I don't know, Bjorn. But sittin' here and waiting this thing out can't be the best answer. Mariah, you learn anything at the college that could help us out?"

But Mariah didn't answer. She wasn't even in the room anymore. The mage has wandered out of the room, overcome by curiosity at one structure still intact. It's jet black stone was jagged and demonic, covering in carvings of a language not seen for hundreds of years. "Bjorn? Drenyir?" she called out, "The college did teach me one thing."

Bjorn came running out to the sound of her voice, then noticed the relic. "By the Gods," he muttered, "an Oblivion gate."

* * *

"No way. You've got to be kiddin' me."

"Well I'm not, Drenyir," Mariah scolded, "we might be able to use this."

Bjorn crossed his arms, shaking his head. "Where did you even learn how these things work?"

Mariah turned away from him, gazing up at the arch. "For two years I studied the writings of Mankar Camoran while dabbling in conjuration... I decided I didn't like the power behind it, so I left that study behind me. But I still know how they work. All we need is a-"

"-Sigil stone," Drenyir huffed, pulling a black orb from a nearby chest. "Whatever Mythic Dawn faction made it's way out here left in a hurry. Left everything here for some sorry group like us to find."

Mariah took the stone and placed it in the center of the archway. It hummed faintly, swirls of orange beginning to mar its surface. Mariah unsheathed her knife and hesitated for a moment, thinking hard about the consequences of this. The flame of the Dragon Light still burned on Tamriel, but did the warding effects of the Dragonblood reach here as well? She drove the thoughts from her mind and cut her palm, dripping crimson blood onto the black stone. The orb rose steadily to the center of the arch, pulsing with an orange glow. Off in the distance, the Snowstrider howled again.

"By the Nine," Bjorn swore, "It's getting closer. Mariah, get this thing working. Drenyir and I will draw the beast closer and attempt keep it distracted."

Closer now, a sickening crack broke through the air. One of the old buildings collapsed under the foot of the Strider. Drenyir and Bjorn took one last assuring glance at Mariah, who nodded affirmingly, her hands wreathed in the black mist of a Conjuror. The two disappeared into the ruins, shouting to the monster. Mariah took a deep breath, uttering dark words to resurrect the gate. She felt herself swell with power, her grasp on her own magicka feeling stronger. The orb flared violently, thrashing out orange whips of dark energy. Her thoughts grew shadowed by the words of Mankar, by the promises of power. She refused them, pushing more and more into the gate. She no longer knew what was going to happen. She felt a tear roll down her face. She was scared. She didn't want to die for this, but did she really have a choice? Die trying or die by the jaws of some ungodly beast, or by the bitter cold of an ancient world? The orb kicked out more energy before finally disappearing. Mariah felt the power disappear, her eyes scanning the arch. She began to panic.

But her panic vanished when a blazing orange wall filled the boundaries of the portal, its heat overwhelming her. The snow began to evaporate and the demonic flora began to creep out of the blaze. She could hear the Snowstrider scream, not too far off. The she saw Bjorn and Drenyir sprint around the corner, telling her to get back to the buildings. The shadow of the beast grew darker behind them, storming closer at terrifying speeds. A hot wind from the gate began to blow, actually making Mariah sweat. She couldn't feel her legs she was so scared, but she could see herself moving. The Strider lunged closer to the gate while Bjorn and Drenyir dove into another ruined building. The beast stopped and gave the arch a puzzling look, snapping it's jaws at the unfamiliar wind and heat. Mariah watched the beast inch backward, praying to Akatosh, or to the Daedra, to make something happen. She didn't know who to pray to now, who was in charge here.

Then, without warning, the portal twisted and warped, ungodly things stepping out of the orange wall. Bjorn could name a few of them. He noticed Daedroths, terrifying lizard men that eat whatever they can get their hands on. What came out next were Clannfears, beaked things that looked like young dragons without wings. Lastly, Spider Daedra poured from the gate, the sirens of evil. Bjorn watched with terror, but also excitement, as the daedra swarmed over the Snowstrider. The beast shuddered and stomped, but their numbers were overwhelming. The Spider Daedra latched web to the beast's legs and began to pull, with the Daedroths and Clannfears biting, clawing, and pushing the Snowstrider towards the pulsing arch. The beast turned away from the gate and tried to run, kicking up snow and rubble as it attempted to thunder forward. But the Daedra fought for their prey relentlessly, pulling it closer to Oblivion. The Snowstrider wailed painfully as it's back legs warped into the orange blaze with a crackle like lightning. As it's legs were pulled into the other realm it began to lose it's footing, sliding faster into the gate. The Strider had forgotten about the three bodies that trespassed on it's hunting ground. Now only it's head and neck were left in this world, thrashing and screaming. Bjorn watched as the creature disappeared into the glow, the gate collapsing behind them, leaving nothing but Bloodgrass around broken chunks of black stone. The hot wind disappeared and the crackle of dark energy vanished, quickly being replaced by the icy wind of Atmora.

Bjorn sighed, relieved as the gate closed. All three of them stepped out among the Bloodgrass, looking down at the rubble of the arch. Drenyir tossed Mariah a book. She almost didn't catch it, lost in thoughts about what they just witnessed. "I found this in the chest with the Sigil Stone. A journal from the Mythic Dawn. Looks like they set up here after the Oblivion Crisis to escape the light of the Dragonblood, start fresh over here." Drenyir looked around at the ruined settlement, "Guess that wasn't such a good idea."

Bjorn looked out to the north and felt his confidence returning. "We'll set up camp here for tonight, but we set out first thing tomorrow." He looked to the north, past all the blinding wind. "Khartagyllum is close now, I can feel it."


	7. Vul Kiir Do Akatosh: Dark Child

Chapter 7

_Vul Kiir Do Akatosh_

"Dark Child of Akatosh"

A crumbling building offered the group protection from the swirling wind outside. With the threat of the Strider gone, they were unafraid to light a fire, taking comfort in the soft glow and the heat. Despite their momentary peace, there was still the worry of food. Drenyir had been unable to find any animal on the snow plains, and their packed rations were running dangerously low. Bjorn prayed that Khartagyllum would yield some food, or else the return trip would be impossible.

Drenyir complained about a headache soon after lighting the fire, grumbling about whatever hit him earlier in the fight. After a quick search of the surroundings, he turned in for the night, sleeping soundly on his bedroll. Bjorn, however, couldn't sleep yet. The Nord sat against the stone wall, looking into the fire, deep in thought. He twirled the hilt of his broken sword in his hand, replaying the whole ordeal in his head. Bjorn was no stranger to fear, but he hadn't been more terrified in his life then when he felt the steel splinter on the Strider's hide. The fire swirled in the pit lazily, the ashes from the blank journals they found for fuel floating upward into the wind. Bjorn closed his eyes and sighed loudly. They needed to get to the capital. There had to be something there they could use. Food, supplies, anything to help them get home. Walking back would be suicide. The only way forward was Khartagyllum.

Then Bjorn found himself thinking of Mariah. Of what she did for them all. For all they knew, she could've died opening the gate, but she did so without hesitation. It was spur of the moment bravery, and Bjorn respected that. Hell, Bjorn admired that. His head rose, looking around the room. Mariah wasn't at the fire or in her bedroll, and Bjorn heard no indication of her leaving. Panic flashed on his face as he bolted to his feet, ready to search for her. He was only a few steps outside their camp when he found her.

She sat on one of the pieces of rubble, huddled into her furs, lost in thought. Mariah gazed with empty eyes at the remains of the arch. Her thoughts flitted about in her head. She felt fear, loss, anger, and guilt all at the same time. Such an incredible power surged through her, and now that it was gone, she couldn't make out how she should feel about it. Mariah wanted the power, that strength, incomparable to anything she'd ever felt. But these thoughts were immediately countered by her sense of reason. It was an evil power, one that shouldn't be used again. When she heard Mankor in her head, when she felt the grasp of Mehrunes Dagon closing around her spirit... it took everything to resist the call of the Daedra. Mariah looked down at her hand, at the scar left over from the cut earlier. She was wrapped in thought, and didn't notice the Nord approaching behind her.

Bjorn placed a hand on her shoulder and Mariah snapped back into reality. She glanced around, getting her bearings back before looking up at Bjorn. She said nothing, but smiled half-heartedly and him. Then her head sank again and she buried her face in her hands with a sigh. Bjorn sat next to her on the rubble, his hand unmoving, attempting to be as comforting as possible. They sat in silence for a few moments before she spoke.

"Should I have done it, Bjorn?" she asked, close to tears.

"You mean opening the gate?"

She nodded slightly, putting her hands to her knees. "It was foolish. None of us knew what would happen."

Bjorn smiled at her reassuringly. "Foolish or not, there was no way to stop the Snowstrider. What you did saved all of our skins."

"You don't understand, Bjorn. The voices in my head... they told me terrible things. Whispers of betrayal, promises of great power..." she turned to him, the tears finally rolling down her cheeks. "I almost gave in. The magic at work was irresistible. Is that bad? To want that?"

Bjorn wiped away a tear that slid down her face. "Not at all, Mariah. The power of the Daedra is unmatched. You're no less of a person for wanting to give in."

"I'm still just as good now, Bjorn," she mumbled, "you haven't lost a fighter in me."

"I know, Mariah. You're a strong soul, I can see it in your eyes. In your voice and your stature. You aren't one for giving in. You look cold though. Maybe we should go back to the fire... get some-"

It happened so fast. Bjorn's request to return to the fire was silenced by Mariah's lips being pressed against his. She seemed tense, like she was taking a bold, dangerous risk, but to the both of them it felt right. Bjorn's hand dropped from her shoulder to around her waist, his eyes closing, relaxed for once. He pulled her closer, melting into each other's embrace. It was a long, passionate kiss, and the wind around them seemed to disappear. When their lips parted they remained in one another's arms, forehead's touching tenderly. "Now I've taken two risks in one night," she whispered, eyes still shut in the moment. "In case we don't make it much farther, I needed you to know how I feel."

Bjorn took her hand, gently running his fingers over her scar. She felt comforted by the soft caress of his touch, despite the Nord's usual intensity. "You acted without fear today, for the good of all of us," he said softly, tracing the ridges of the scar, "This is a reminder of that. Of how strong you are, and how much you care for others. Now, I need a way to show you how much I care for you." Mariah looked him the eyes, smiling warmly as she squeezed his calloused hand. "Can we go back to the fire now?"

The two stepped away from the rubble and walked back towards the fire's orange glow. The wind fell quiet for the night, and the flame created a comforting warmth. For a long while, the two sat together, staring into the fire, thinking about the days ahead. Finally, Bjorn felt Mariah begin to relax, leaning on his shoulder, fast asleep. He laid her down in her bedroll and watched her for a while longer, making sure she slept soundly. Once he felt Mariah and Drenyir were safe enough, he turned to his own bedroll. He was asleep shortly after, but this night was not plagued by nightmares. For the first time, he felt at peace.

* * *

They awoke the next morning to silence. The wind had ceased its howling, but the clouds above still churned angrily. The team rolled up their packs and got ready to set out. Bjorn clutched the hilt of his sword, feeling the fit of the leather. It was frayed at the top now, bladeless, and the metal was accented by deep grooves from the battle. Bjorn grit his teeth and chucked the broken sword into a snow drift. It was useless to him now. Drenyir and Mariah watched as he did it, exchanging worried looks. "C'mon," Bjorn ordered, his tone threaded with anger, "let's keep going."

The snow crunched beneath their feet. With the wind gone, the bitterness of the cold diminished a little. For once, they could lower their coats a little and look around. As expected, the white expanse stretched out for miles, any feature disappearing into the distant fog. Bjorn spearheaded the group, with Mariah and Drenyir flanking him. The quiet was more disturbing than it was relieving. After days of hearing the howl of the wind, they were constantly on edge. Drenyir scanned the horizon carefully, making sure nothing snuck up on them from across the expanse. Mariah walked along with the group, mildly upset that she couldn't contribute more than clairvoyance every so often. She looked over Bjorn, noting his stride, his aggression. She tried to understand how something material like a sword could be so important to someone, but finally settled the matter, telling herself it wasn't right to judge others, especially Bjorn.

"Bjorn," Drenyir called, his pace slowing, "is that what I think it is?" Ahead of them, the shadows of a small mountain range broke through the fog. The clouds swirled madly above them, crackling with energy. Bjorn halted the group, observing the first natural feature for several miles. "We were told to find the Highway," Bjorn recalled, straining his eyes at the base of the peaks. "Would it be a tunnel?"

Mariah's clairvoyance floated for a moment, finally arcing towards the mountain range. They followed the wispy trail to a massive passageway, stretching endlessly into the mountain. The entrance was accented by braisers, stained black, unlit for centuries, and stone features like small statues and guiding markers. The wind, which had been relatively quiet, they now noticed had stopped completely. Bjorn approached the gaping entryway, tuning his ears to the sound of dripping water. "This has to be it," he concluded, starting into the tunnel. "Let's go."

The three stepped quietly down the passage, the light quickly dimming around them. Eventually, the flames that lit up Mariah's hands became their only light. The air was thick, resonating with the sound of water droplets falling from the ceiling. The group was dwarfed by the size of the tunnel. The icy passage was wide enough to march an army through and the ceiling taller than the Great Hall at Dragonsreach. The floor was smooth, polished ice, shimmering with a deep blue color, as were the walls. Unlike the entrance, there were no stone markers or torches. There was nothing but smooth ice the entire way.

Mariah moved to the side, trailing her hand along the wall. "What do you think created this?" she wondered out loud, "Wind? An ancient river? Could this passage be created by the Nedes?"

"Of course it could," Bjorn replied, his voice echoing around the passage. "The Nedes had an impressive grasp of natural magicka. Interesting that they become my people, who know very little naturally. Perhaps it was created by wind, or an ancient river, but whatever it was, it was orchestrated by the people of Khartagyllum."

"This would've taken hundreds of people, though. All with an extensive understanding of this brand of magic. More importantly, were they digging into the mountain, or digging out?"

Bjorn glanced behind him, his spine tingling, like he was being watched. "Regardless of which way they dug, Khartagyllum was built in the middle of this mountain range for a reason, and we're going to find out why."

The passageway began to widen, growing larger until they reached a massive stone door. It was a deep black, vaguely similar to the doors to Ancient Nord ruins, except much larger. It was emblazoned with fantastic images and hieroglyphics of a dead language. As intriguing as they were, none of them knew what to make of them. Drenyir pushed it open and stepped in first, scanning the room for any threats. "Seems clear enough," he called back, "let's keep moving, then."

Bjorn and Mariah had only approached the antechamber a few steps before Drenyir called out again. "Good grace of Azura..." he swore, panic rising in his tone. "You two need to see this!"

Bjorn and Mariah stormed into the room, stopping short in awe. A massive glacier sat in the middle of the antechamber, stretching out across the floor and scraping the ceiling. The closer they got, the clearer the ice became, and Bjorn could make out a huge shadow locked within the ice. As he looked over the shadow, his heart dropped and his soul filled with dread as the being became clearer. The body glistened with silver-white scales, accented with black streaks like burns. A powerful tail wrapped around the base. Two thick legs ending with awesome, clawed talons, dug into the ice. A pair of torn, massive wings stretched out in an anguished death throe. Finally, a ghastly head appeared, topped with impressive horns and filled with bloodied teeth. Bjorn took a step back, wide-eyed. Within the ice was a dragon, and not just _any dragon_. The dragon was enormous, larger than any myth or legend portrayed them. He scanned the massive creature, looking for signs of life. The eyes did not move or blink, and the wings and feet didn't twitched. Bjorn stepped closer again and touched the icy tomb. Was it still alive? Was it dangerous? More importantly, what was this dragon?

Mariah called to Bjorn, who came jogging to her side. Mariah and Drenyir were looking over a stone tablet etched in a mix of Draconic and Ancient Nordic. "We found this..." the Dunmer muttered, running his hands over the tablet. "Maybe it will tell us about..." he gestured towards the glacier, "this."

Mariah's eyes were glued to the text, trying to understand the prehistoric message. "I can read most of this..." she explained, not looking up from the stone. "I've already translated it a bit." Bjorn and Drenyir listened intently as she explained, occasionally glancing up at the dragon, making sure it was still there.

"This here references the dragon. It explains that, in the time before time, when Mundus was still young, the god Akatosh had many children, endowed with godly power and stature. We know one of these dragons, Alduin, who claimed to be the first-born of Akatosh. This tablet says otherwise. It states that the first child of Akatosh was_ Drogdoiiz_, or the 'Lord of Ice'. As he grew, he became jealous of his father's might and tried to steal the power of time from him. Akatosh grew angry at his child and cast him down to Mundus from the other dimension, tearing his name from history. He was forgotten, disowned... abandoned. Drogdoiiz wandered the skies of Mundus for a millennia, before finally finding Atmora. The primitive inhabitants saw the dragon as their god, come to teach them the path to ascension. Here, Drogdoiiz ruled as a god-king, influencing law, religion, magic... everything. After hundreds of years, a rebellion flared up against the Lord of Ice. A great warrior under the order of the rebel king approached Drogdoiiz in this chamber and challenged him. Drogdoiiz figured the battle to be a short one, until the warrior stirred a deep, inner hatred. He called him out, branding him a petty king, and the forgotten dark child of Akatosh. Drogdoiiz seethed with rage at the human that uncovered his shameful roots and tried to shatter him with a mighty blizzard Thu'um, the Vul Tiid Fo. The tablet says the warrior wore armor crafted from a scale of Akatosh himself, a gift from the gods. It turned the Thu'um back on Drogdoiiz, trapping him in a material called... Everfrost for all eternity. Before he was entombed, however, he cursed his father, the land, and its people for their disobedience. A few months later, the snow started, and never stopped."

Mariah looked around at her small audience. "It ends by saying the Great Frost will never end so long as the heart of Drogdoiiz still beats."

Drenyir threw his head back laughing. "So... not only was Alduin not the first-born," he chortled, "but he had to mimic exactly what his big brother did here? Talk about living in a shadow."

Bjorn stood for a moment, deep in thought. "You said the Lord of Ice cursed the people as well," he asked. "Does it say how?" Mariah shook her head. "It only reads what I've told you. Maybe it says something in this other language, but no one has seen it for thousands of years. It's impossible to read."

They all turned to the massive beast, trapped in permanent stasis, but still living. Still a threat to the world. It creeped into Bjorn's mind like a shadow; he was looking at what could very well be the apocalypse. Who knew if a hero like the Dragonborn could stop him? If such a hero existed?

Their thoughts were suddenly shattered by the great door behind them slamming shut. They wheeled around to face the threat, Bjorn reaching for his sword. His eyes widened, horrified, when his hand grasped nothing but air. A dozen creatures, their bodies cloaked in furs, their skin matching the color of the ice, stormed into the antechamber. They were upon Drenyir and Mariah before they could retaliate. Bjorn staggered backward, against Drogdoiiz's tomb as the figures approached. One stepped out of the crowd, reaching out to Bjorn. It's hand ended with razor claws. Bjorn was paralyzed, trapped in one of his nightmares. The hand closed around his face, the icy touch sinking into his skull. The creature opened it's mouth, revealing hideous, ghastly teeth. It hissed like the wind, like a dozen Ice Wraiths swimming around Bjorn's head. It's eyes, a deep, shattered blue, glared menacingly into Bjorn's before he faded into blackness.


	8. Faal Dilon Reyliik: The Dead Race

Chapter 8

_Faal Dilon Reyliik _

"The Dead Race"

Bjorn head was swimming in a haze. He felt the harsh coils of rope around his wrists and the heat from a small fire on his face, but whenever he attempted to open his eyes, his vision was blurred and distorted. He had no sense of time, and he drifted in and out of consciousness. He remembered a dragon, and a tablet. He remembered talk of the curse and a rebellion. Then he remembered the piercing blue eyes and the cold...

_Bjorn heard nothing, nothing but the whistle of a breeze, like wind in a cave. He could not move, he could not see. He tried to scream, but no sound left his being. Then there was a brilliant flash of light, and he was blinded by it, and deafened by the ringing in his ears. The world came back to him in an instant. The dim light of braziers illuminated the room. He found himself sitting, his legs numb and immobile. Bjorn felt the panic rise in his throat as he desperately searched for a familiar face or symbol. Against his will, his hands rose to his head, slowly lifting off a magnificent steel helmet. The horns of an Atmoran Cliff Ram jutted proudly from the helm, and the faint blue glow of magicka shimmered off the metal. Bjorn admired the helmet, caressing the smooth steel. At his second attempt to move, his legs carried him around the throne to a doorway, very similar to Nede design. Every breath puffed out of his mouth in a mist as he scanned the door fearfully, not knowing what lay on the other side. Weaponless, he pushed open the metal doors and was blinded once more by the sun._

_When his eyesight settled once more, Bjorn was astonished, falling to his knee in shock. Ahead of him were rolling hills dusted by a steady snowfall. To his left sat a great city, carved of stone and metal, reminiscent of Jylkurfyk. Ahead of him, a massive ship lay mangled among the rocks. Every footstep from then on was beyond his power, his feet carrying him away from the tomb. "I... I am Yngol... son of Ysgrammor..." he muttered, placing the helmet atop his head once more. "This must be Skyrim."_

_Bjorn gasped as reality came crashing back to him. His vision was clear and he was fully conscious, swinging his head wildly, trying to get his bearings. He was in a dark room, illuminated by one dim torch. It burned an unearthly greenish-orange, casting unusual shadows along the walls. Bjorn turned to look at his wrists, struggling against the ragged knots of ropes that were hanging his arms above his head. With a grunt, he pulled on the bonds, but was disheartened at the quiet groan of the tension. He sighed and continued to analyze his surroundings. He was relieved to see Drenyir and Mariah were with him, suspended by rope like he was. He called to them, but the two were still unconscious. Ahead of him was a thick stone door with a window sealed by iron bars. Bjorn assumed it was bolted shut, but couldn't know for sure. He felt the beads of sweat accumulate on his forehead as he absorbed his situation. He was unarmed, the familiar weight of a sword absent from his side. He remembered he had lost it the previous day, or however long it had been since the Snow Strider was vanquished. His armor was also stripped from him, left in his most basic clothing and a fur cloak. He silently thanked the gods for the fur, concluding that whoever captured them at least wanted them alive for the time being. Bjorn noticed the same about the others. Drenyir's bow and quiver were nowhere to be seen, and the leather armor the two of them wore were gone as well. Bjorn was drawn to Mariah, the accents of the torchlight on her soft skin. He admired her, even now. Bjorn shook away the romantic thoughts. Those were for later, he said to himself. Right now, he needed to find a way to remedy this situation. After about another hour, Bjorn figured, Mariah came to. Unlike Bjorn, she roused sleepily, looking around more confused than panicked. She noticed her bonds, and then the fear set in. She tugged on them desperately, but Bjorn spoke up._

"Mariah! Mariah, calm down. We're fine, I think. None of us appear to be hurt."

Her eyes were widened with terror. "Where... where are we, Bjorn? Did those things in the antechamber do this?"

"I don't know where we are, but I'd bet all my family's investments that those creatures captured us. Neither Drenyir and I have weapons, but luckily, you're a mage," he chuckled, "Do you think you could burn through the ropes?"

"I think I can. Are you alright?"

"Yes, Mariah, I'm alright. We'll talk once we're out."

Mariah was about to ignite her magic, when she noticed her apparent lack of clothing. She blushed heavily and turned away from Bjorn. Bjorn thought he saw a small smile, but he wasn't sure. "How long have you been awake?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "An hour or two maybe."

"Have you been looking at me this whole time..?"

Bjorn rolled his eyes, slightly irritated. "For the love of Talos, will you just cut the ropes?"

With a brief flash of fire, Mariah's bonds snapped and she massaged her wrists. She approached Bjorn, wrapping the cloak around herself tighter.

"Come here," she murmured, "let's get these bindings off."

Bjorn's ropes snapped just as easily. He rolled his shoulders back, testing his mobility. Mariah touched his hand tenderly. "You're alright, Bjorn?" He nodded, and gestured towards the Dark Elf. "Let's get him down, shall we?"  
Drenyir, still unconscious, collapsed into Bjorn's arms as Mariah cut his bindings. Resting him against the wall of the chamber, they waited until he roused. He awoke similar to Mariah: sleepily and dazed, taking a few moments to look around the chamber and at his two companions. "Oh, why is it always me that gets knocked out?" he groaned.

After a minute, he righted himself. "Alright," he spat, "Where is my bow. And my arrows. If I don't get those back, then by Azura's right hand I'll...!" Bjorn laughed, resting his hand on the Elf's shoulder. "We'll get in back, friend. Trust me. Now that you're awake, you need to get your bearings. We're getting out of here."

"Wherever 'here' is," Drenyir muttered.

Bjorn took Drenyir's hand and hoisted him to his feet. Then he turned his attention to the door. He rested his hands on the door and, to his surprise, it screeched open unhindered. It opened into a small room reminiscent of guard's barracks. There was no furniture, save for a few stone slabs Bjorn figured were seats. Scattered about were clean-picked bones and gnawed chunks of mysterious, uncooked meat. There were two other metal cell doors, but there was no torch light within, which Bjorn took to mean they were empty. In the far corner of the room was a crude chest, left agape, and the dilapidated wooden door out of the cell block was left ajar. Whoever their captors were didn't seem to know how to run a prison block. The group approached the chest and retrieved their belongings. After a moment spent donning their armor, Drenyir huffed, noticeably frustrated. "My bow wasn't in there. Where in Oblivion is my damn bow?" Mariah and Bjorn watched him storm over to a pile of debris, rummaging through it with an almost comically obsession. Their attention turned to the door out of the cell block when they heard footsteps echoing down the hallway. After exchanging a look, Mariah and Bjorn moved to the door, waiting silently on either side. Drenyir failed to notice the footsteps, as he was too deeply enveloped in his search. "When they reach the door, we'll take them out," Bjorn instructed, his voice lowered to a whisper. "I'll take the second one, and you take the first one in the confusion." Mariah nodded.

Two creatures stormed down the hallway, identical to the creatures that captured them back in the dragon antechamber. They barreled into the room, weapons gripped in their hands. The moment their feet crossed the threshold of the door, Bjorn tackled the second one to the ground. It growled fiercely, thrashing it's arms around trying to dig the crude stone dagger into Bjorn's side. Bjorn struggled with the creature, wrapping his arm around it's neck in a powerful headlock. The other creature wheeled around, surprised by the attack, and fumbled to pull an arrow from it's quiver. Mariah's hand crackled and launched a blinding lightning bolt at the confused creature, which blasted it across the room. The creature was nothing but ash when it hit the wall. Bjorn continued to grapple with the creature, whose dagger began to get dangerously close to his flank. With a mighty battle cry, Bjorn twisted the creature's neck, silencing the monster as the crack of the bone echoed throughout the room. Mariah and Bjorn turned back to the door and gasped as one more creature leapt through the doorway, bringing it's sword down on Bjorn. Bjorn closed his eyes, expecting the worst, and waited for Sovngarde.

"Hey, s'wit."

Drenyir loosed an arrow, plunging it deep between the creatures eyes.

"_I found my bow_."

The creature slumped forward, dead. Bjorn opened his eyes and scrambled away from the body. He turned to Drenyir, grinning. "It was in this other cell, here," he said, motioning to the farthest one, "among other weapons and loot. Pocketed a few gemstones and the best lookin' dagger I've ever seen. Even got this for you, Bjorn."

He tossed a sword to Bjorn. It was jagged and crude, similar to the Forsworn weapons of the Reach, if they were made of stones. Bjorn tested it's weight, frowning. It was unbalanced and clumsy, but it would have to do for now.

The group, re-equipped and alert, left the barracks and crept down the hallway. The group was stopped at an intersection by a concerning sight. A man, seven feet tall, cloaked in furs and chitin armor, stood at the center of the intersection, hand outstretched, beckoning for them to stop. Bjorn tightened his grip on his sword and stood on the defensive. The man smiled beneath his hood, his voice gravelly and deep when he spoke, yet it seemed somewhat defined compared to the gnashing sounds of the previous beasts they'd encountered. "Now, now..." the man started, lowering his hand. "There is no cause for more violence."

Bjorn stepped forward again, not letting his guard down. The man sighed. "I suppose we haven't made the best first impression. I am D'nari. Please excuse my brethren, they fail to be as..." he lowered his hood, grinning with a set of jagged, animalistic teeth, "...civilized... as the rest of us."  
Bjorn analyzed the man, if he could be called such. D'nari was one of the beasts they'd been attacked by, characterized by his pale skin and icy blue eyes. His white hair was thinning and his beard was long and frazzled. D'nari was incomparable to the previous beasts. He maintained an air of wisdom and calm. "Please," D'nari continued, opening his arms in a welcoming gesture, "will the three of you accompany me to the Library? As you can expect, the people of Khartagyllum have not had guests in many years."

D'nari began to walk down one of the corridors, his cloak flowing elegantly behind him. Mariah approached Bjorn. "Look, I don't trust him, but it seems we have no choice in the matter," she gave him a slight smile, "maybe we can learn more about what happened to Atmora from him." Drenyir nodded in approval, "I don't feel like wandering through this labyrinth blindly. At least it seems like this guy knows where he's goin'."

Bjorn nodded affirmatively and the group hurried to catch up with D'nari. After a short, silent walk, they entered what could only be the Library. Shelves towered above them filled with ancient books and scrolls, all in pristine condition. There was a sitting area established in the center, which D'nari guided them to. He sat himself on a central stone chair and sat with a sophisticated posture, fingertips pressed together. Bjorn and Drenyir awkwardly took their seats across from him, while Mariah wandered, examining the texts. After another moment of silence, D'nari spoke.

"I suppose we should address the mammoth in the streets. This city has been secluded for millennia. How, and more importantly, why have you come here."

Bjorn shifted uneasily in his seat, clearing his throat to speak. "We're all that remains of a scientific expedition to Atmora from the College in Skyrim. We were here to discover what happened to the continent," he stopped for a moment, waiting for D'nari's reaction. "We were hoping... you could tell us."  
D'nari cocked his head and gave Bjorn an inquisitive look. "You're from Skyrim, then? We were wondering if Ysgrammor ever made it. We know Ysmir left as well, but again, we've been disconnected from the world. We know nothing of their expeditions. I suppose, as guests from the New World, I could enlighten you to our culture. We are_ Faal Krah Lahvu_, or the Cold Army. We are the remains of a people blessed by our sleeping god to inherit Atmora. Long ago, our land was ruled by a great dragon-god, who promised our people unimaginable power in exchange for our undying loyalty. But there was an insurrection and our Lord was put to sleep and left to die by a traitor. But our Lord did begin the prophecy, and wrapped the land in ice. Those loyal to him," he gestured to himself, "were granted long life and great strength and agility, at the expense of a debilitating disease of the mind. The weak were broken by the power of our Lord and put to death, or exiled, and the strong remain, relishing his gifts. Presently, we wait for our dragon-Lord to awaken from his hibernation, where we will join him in the conquering of the world."

Drenyir leaned forward, raising a point. "In the antechamber, we found an engraving that said the land and it's people were cursed. This 'blessing' you speak of... is this the curse?"

D'nari raised an eyebrow, confused. " A curse? It that what the tablet said? No no, this is no curse. _Viing Do Faal Drog_... we are a chosen people! While many have become more... savage... than myself, we are still strong. It is our _destiny_. The world is our inheritance."  
Mariah came back to the group, her bag overflowing with papers. D'nari eyed her menacingly. "While I regret to inform you of this," he hissed, the sophistication in his voice disappearing, "our god-speakers have told us our Lord requires a sacrifice to awaken. But his chosen people are..." he growled, standing to his full height, "...corrupt. He requires the blood of the poor. I suppose the blood of you diluted _sivaas_', untouched by his gifts, will suffice."

More of the creatures, soldiers of the Cold Army, appeared from out of shadows. They surrounded the group, howling war cries and gnashing their jaws. Bjorn, Mariah and Drenyir readied themselves to fight as D'nari's voice boomed across the Library. "Do not struggle! You are part of a divine plan so much bigger than us all! This is a gift, not an execution. Grab them!"

The horde of creatures closed in on the team. Heavily outnumbered, the group turned to the doors out of the Library and made a break for it. Bjorn slashed through a few creatures who attempted to intercept them as Mariah ignited the shelves. Crashing through the doors, the team sprinted down the corridor. At the end was a large double door, left open, that lead out to what looked like a courtyard. Behind them, they could hear the roar of the fire and the thunder of their pursuers. From all the side passages, more creatures spilled into the corridor, some even clawing their way along the walls. Bjorn, Mariah and Drenyir dashed into the courtyard and formed a defensive circle in the center. A towering palace stood behind them with huge, ornate doors. The central tower glowed with an intense blue light and all the clouds swirled around the top. All around them, the howls of the Cold Army broke the whistle of the wind. They surrounded them, spilling out of doorways and climbing out of windows, attempting to grab the group. Bjorn, Mariah, and Drenyir were completely surrounded by a ravenous swarm of creatures, swinging their swords around their heads in anticipation.

"So," Drenyir huffed, his bow ready to shoot, "this is the end then?"

Bjorn couldn't answer. All he could muster was a solemn glance to his two companions. Mariah returned his gaze, the flame in her hands reflecting off of her soft eyes. Bjorn sighed and raised his sword, prepared to fight to the last breath. The Cold Army rallied and charged, closing in on the team. Bjorn prayed to Talos one last time.

_VEN GAR NOS!_

The doors of the palace crashed open and a vicious wind ripped across the courtyard. The gusts caught the creatures and knocked them to the ground. They howled angrily and struggled to get to their feet, but the wind tore them back to the ground. The horde parted, and a path to the palace opened up. Bjorn shouted above the wind. "Into the palace! Lets move!"

As the group made a mad dash for the doors, Bjorn could make out the enraged voice of D'nari.

"_SOS VOKUN! Traitor! Damn you, Ynullum! False king!_"

* * *

_A/N: Hey all, WWIIbeast here. I want to debunk some things right now. I know this chapter has been a very long time coming. To be honest, the end of school was a very busy time for me, and summer is as well, with my job putting my on for many many hours. On top of all this, I've had some writers block with this chapter. I'm pretty sure I'm solid on where I want to go from here, though. So just to answer the question I bet some of you have been thinking, no, I am not abandoning this story. I have full commitment to it and plan on seeing Bjorn and his group through to the end of their journey, and, if some of you would like, perhaps even further, with expeditions to wondrous new lands. I've simply been short on time, and I will write when I can. Anyway, that's my update. As always, keep reading, please leave comments and reviews, and I'll see you next time. _


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